Shaw, dealer in human
character, cannot write a play and leave her out, any more than the
artist Turner could paint a picture and leave man out, or Paul Veronese
produce a canvas and omit the dog.

The Disagreeable Girl is a female of the genus homo persuasion, built
around a digestive apparatus that possesses marked marshmallow
proclivities. She is pretty, pug-nosed, pink, pert and poetical; and at
first glance, to the unwary, she shows signs of gentleness and
intelligence. Her age is anywhere from eighteen to twenty-eight. At
twenty-eight she begins to evolve into something else, and her capacity
for harm is largely curtailed, because by this time spirit has written
itself in her form and features, and the grossness and animality which
before were veiled are becoming apparent.

Habit writes itself on the face, and body is an automatic recording
machine.

To have a beautiful old age, you must live a beautiful youth, for we
ourselves are posterity, and every man is his own ancestor. I am to-day
what I am because I was yesterday what I was. The Disagreeable Girl is
always pretty, at least we have been told she is pretty, and she fully
accepts the dictum.

She has also been told she is clever, and she thinks she is.

The actual fact is she is only "sassy."

The fine flaring up of youth has tended to set sex rampant, but she is
not "immoral" save in her mind.

She has caution to the verge of cowardice, and so she is sans reproche.
In public she pretends to be dainty; but alone, or with those for whose
good opinion she does not care, she is gross, coarse and sensual in
every feature of her life. She eats too much, does not exercise enough
and considers it amusing to let other people wait on her and do for her
the things she should do for herself. Her room is a jumble of disorder.
The one gleam of hope for her lies in the fact that out of shame, she
allows no visitor to enter her apartments if she can help it. Concrete
selfishness is her chief mark. She will avoid responsibility, side-step
every duty that calls for honest effort; is untruthful, secretive,
indolent and dishonest.

"What are you eating?" asks Nora Hebler's husband as she enters the
room, not expecting to see him.

"Nothing," is the answer, and she hides the box of bonbons behind her,
and soon backs out of the room.

I think Mr. Hebler had no business to ask her what she was eating--no
man should ask any woman such a question, and really it was no