The next morning we had a glee club concert — and who do you think wrote the funny new song composed for the occasion? It’s the truth. She did. Oh, I tell you, Daddy, your little foundling is getting to be quite a prominent person!
Anyway, our gay two days were great fun, and I think the men enjoyed it. Some of them were awfully perturbed at first at the prospect of facing one thousand girls; but they got acclimated very quickly. Our two Princeton men had a beautiful time — at least they politely said they had, and they’ve invited us to their dance next spring. We’ve accepted, so please don’t object, Daddy dear.
Julia and Sallie and I all had new dresses. Do you want to hear about them? Julia’s was cream satin and gold embroidery and she wore purple orchids. It was a DREAM and came from Paris, and cost a million dollars.
Sallie’s was pale blue trimmed with Persian embroidery, and went beautifully with red hair. It didn’t cost quite a million, but was just as effective as Julia’s.
Mine was pale pink crepe de chine trimmed with ecru lace and rose satin. And I carried crimson roses which J. McB. sent (Sallie having told him what colour to get). And we all had satin slippers and silk stockings and chiffon scarfs to match.
You must be deeply impressed by these millinery details.
One can’t help thinking, Daddy, what a colourless life a man is forced to lead, when one reflects that chiffon and Venetian point and hand embroidery and Irish crochet are to him mere empty words. Whereas a woman — whether she is interested in babies or microbes or husbands or poetry or servants or parallelograms or gardens or Plato or bridge — is fundamentally and always interested in clothes.
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.
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?
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.
I only saw Master Jervie once when he called at tea time, and then I didn’t have a chance to speak to him alone. It was really disappointing after our nice time last summer. I don’t think he cares much for his relatives — and I am sure they don’t care much for him! Julia’s mother says he’s unbalanced. He’s a Socialist — except, thank Heaven, he doesn’t let his hair grow and wear red ties. She can’t imagine where he picked up his queer ideas; the family have been Church of England for generations. He throws away his money on every sort of crazy reform, instead of spending it on such sensible things as yachts and automobiles and polo ponies. He does buy candy with it though! He sent Julia and me each a box for Christmas.
You know, I think I’ll be a Socialist, too. You wouldn’t mind, would you, Daddy? They’re quite different from Anarchists; they don’t believe in blowing people up. Probably I am one by rights; I belong to the proletariat. I haven’t determined yet just which kind I am going to be. I will look into the subject over Sunday, and declare my principles in my next.
I’ve seen loads of theatres and hotels and beautiful houses. My mind is a confused jumble of onyx and gilding and mosaic floors and palms. I’m still pretty breathless but I am glad to get back to college and my books — I believe that I really am a student; this atmosphere of academic calm I find more bracing than New York. College is a very satisfying sort of life; the books and study and regular classes keep you alive mentally, and then when your mind gets tired, you have the gymnasium and outdoor athletics, and always plenty of congenial friends who are thinking about the same things you are. We spend a whole evening in nothing but talk — talk — talk — and go to bed with a very uplifted feeling, as though we had settled permanently some pressing world problems. And filling in every crevice, there is always such a lot of nonsense — just silly jokes about the little things that come up but very satisfying. We do appreciate our own witticisms!
It isn’t the great big pleasures that count the most; it’s making a great deal out of the little ones — I’ve discovered the true secret of happiness, Daddy, and that is to live in the now. Not to be for ever regretting the past, or anticipating the future; but to get the most that you can out of this very instant. It’s like farming. You can have extensive farming and intensive farming; well, I am going to have intensive living after this. I’m going to enjoy every second, and I’m going to KNOW I’m enjoying it while I’m enjoying it. Most people don’t live; they just race. They are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose all sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it doesn’t make any difference whether they’ve reached the goal or not. I’ve decided to sit down by the way and pile up a lot of little happinesses, even if I never become a Great Author. Did you ever know such a philosopheress as I am developing into?
Yours ever,
Judy
PS. It’s raining cats and dogs tonight. Two puppies and a kitten have just landed on the window-sill.