he husband who has wrecked our first illusions--on
Life itself. Bringing-up, family and social traditions, have nothing to
do with it. Only opportunity counts. Moreover, we are not the product
of our immediate forebears, but of a thousand thousand unknown
ancestors. . . ."

"God! True enough!"

"Unfortunately, these women who have wasted so much time on love never
realize the tragic futility until Time himself disposes of temptation,
and then it is too late for anything but regrets of another sort. The
war may have solved the problem for many a desperate spirit.

"My own case has assumed an entirely different complexion. With my youth
restored I have the world at my feet once more, but safeguarded by the
wisdom of experience--in so far as a mortal ever may be. The bare idea
of that old game of prowling sex fills me with ennui and disgust. The
body may be young again, but my mind, reenergized though it is, is packed
with memories, a very Book of Life. When I found that my beauty was
restored I thought of nothing less than returning to the conquest of men
in the old manner, although quite aware of its powerful aid in the work I
have made up my mind to do in Austria. Of late, of course, I have
thought of little else but what this recrudescence of my youth means to
you and to myself. But--please do not interrupt--this I shall not
discuss with you again until Monday--if then.

"But once more I wish to impress you with the fact that I indulge in
nothing so futile as regrets for my 'past.' 'Sack-cloth and ashes'
provokes nothing but a smile from women of my type and class. Moreover,
I believe that my education would not be complete without that
experience--_mine_, understand. I am not speaking for women of other
temperaments, opportunities, of less intellect, of humbler character,
weaker will. . . . And if I had persisted in virtue at that time I
should probably make a fool of myself today, an even more complete fool
than women do when they feel youth slipping but still are able with the
aid of art and arts to fascinate younger men.

"That almost standardized chapter I renounced peremptorily. My pride was
too great to permit me to be foolish even in the privacy of my mind over
men half my age. Nor did I make any of the usual frantic attempts to
keep looking young. I had seen too much of that, laughed at it too
often. Nevertheless, I hated the approach of age, the decay of beauty,
the death of magnetism,