upstairs I
expected an awful time. But my father is a reel Person, so he only sat
down on the bed, and said:

"Well, chicken, so you're at it again!"

I had to smile, although my chin shook.

"You'd better turn me out and forget me," I said. "I was born for
Trouble. My advice to the Familey is to get out from under. That's all."

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "It's pretty conveniant to have a Familey
to drop on when the slump comes." He thumped himself on the chest.
"A hundred and eighty pounds," he observed, "just intended for little
daughters to fall back on when other things fail."

"Father," I inquired, putting my hand in his, because I had been bearing
my burdens alone, and my strength was failing: "do you beleive in Love?"

"DO I!"

"But I mean, not the ordinery atachment between two married people. I
mean Love--the reel thing."

"I see! Why, of course I do."

"Did you ever read Pope, father?"

"Pope? Why I--probably, chicken. Why?"

"Then you know what he says: `Curse on all laws but those which Love has
made.'"

"Look here," he said, sudenly laying a hand on my brow. "I beleive you
are feverish."

"Not feverish, but in trouble," I explained. And so I told him the
story, not saying much of my deep Passion for Adrian, but merely that
I had formed an atachment for him which would persist during Life.
Although I had never yet exchanged a word with him.

Father listened and said it was indeed a sad story, and that he knew my
deep nature, and that I would be true to the End. But he refused to
give me any money, except enough to pay back Hannah and Carter Brooks,
saying:

"Your mother does not wish you to go to the Theater again, and who are
we to go against her wishes? And anyhow, maybe if you met this fellow
and talked to him, you would find him a disapointment. Many a
pretty girl I have seen in my time, who didn't pan out acording to
specifications when I finaly met her."

At this revalation of my beloved father's true self, I was almost
stuned. It is evadent that I do not inherit my being true as steal from
him. Nor from my mother, who is like steal in hardness but not in being
true to anything but Social Position.

As I record this awfull day, dear Dairy, there comes again into my mind
the thought that I DO NOT BELONG HERE. I am not like them. I do not even
resemble them in features. And, if I belonged to them, would they
not treat me with more consideration and less disipline? Who, in the
F