I went to her rooms to-night. Michelle moaned and whined, and Diane resigned herself to 11:00. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. It's big, thanks to you. . And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to.
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