CHAPTER VIT
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fragrant-minded unmarried woman of thirty, to whom material care has never come and upon whom the finger of passion has never been laid, is apt to hanker unconsciously after things which the pride or self-sufficiency of earlier maidenhood has serenely rejected. Growing more sensitive, she begins to feel the faintly stirring outermost ripples of the splash which Mother Eve made in the Waters of Life. She welcomes the scarcely perceptible thrills, the dainty lapping of the wave against her heart. Soon is the delicate emotion to her as the breath of her being. She will seek it in painting and music. She will divine it in poetry. Possibly she will write a novel about the fair loves of a boy and girl which she may or—more often—may not publish. If she has no brains, she will la
