” She shrugged her shoulders slightly. “He will find it difficult no doubt to alter his style of living,” she said. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Under the somewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to a recent use of the powder puff. Still, his robust frame enabled him to hold out. “I wouldn’t have been without this trip for worlds. ‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you.
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