It's the one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. (That
isn't original. I got it out of one of Shakespeare's plays).
However, to resume. Do you want me to tell you a secret that I've
lately discovered? And will you promise not to think me vain? Then
listen: I'm pretty.
I am, really. I'd be an awful idiot not to know it with three
looking-glasses in the room.
A Friend
PS. This is one of those wicked anonymous letters you read about in
novels.
20th December
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
I've just a moment, because I must attend two classes, pack a trunk and
a suit-case, and catch the four-o'clock train--but I couldn't go
without sending a word to let you know how much I appreciate my
Christmas box.
I love the furs and the necklace and the Liberty scarf and the gloves
and handkerchiefs and books and purse--and most of all I love you! But
Daddy, you have no business to spoil me this way. I'm only human--and
a girl at that. How can I keep my mind sternly fixed on a studious
career, when you deflect me with such worldly frivolities?
I have strong suspicions now as to which one of the John Grier Trustees
used to give the Christmas tree and the Sunday ice-cream. He was
nameless, but by his works I know him! You deserve to be happy for all
the good things you do.
Goodbye, and a very merry Christmas.
Yours always,
Judy
PS. I am sending a slight token, too. Do you think you would like her
if you knew her?
11th January
I meant to write to you from the city, Daddy, but New York is an
engrossing place.
I had an interesting--and illuminating--time, but I'm glad I don't
belong to such a family! I should truly rather have the John Grier
Home for a background. Whatever the drawbacks of my bringing up, there
was at least no pretence about it. I know now what people mean when
they say they are weighed down by Things. The material atmosphere of
that house was crushing; I didn't draw a deep breath until I was on an
express train coming back. All the furniture was carved and
upholstered and gorgeous; the people I met were beautifully dressed and
low-voiced and well-bred, but it's the truth, Daddy, I never heard one
word of real talk from the time we arrived until we left. I don't
think an idea ever entered the front door.
Mrs. Pendleton never thinks of anything but jewels and dressmakers and
social engagements. She did seem a different kind of mother from Mrs.
McBride! If I ever marry and have a family, I'm going to make them as
exactly like the McBrides as I can. Not for all the money in the world
would I ever let any children of mine develop into Pendletons. Maybe
it isn't polite to criticize people you've been visiting? If it isn't,
please excuse. This is very confidential, between you and me.