hey really pilots?"

Soon, as was to be expected, she could not endure these accusing words,
even herself; and throwing the slim volume pell-mell in the fire,
bought and embarked upon a more ambitious tome.

Then indeed began the proper secret, for up till now though nobody had
ever known, (she could hear Hubert laughing at her and calling her "so
refreshing" ...) it had not been tremendously exciting.

Now it was, however, for the new book, started ambitiously enough as a
sort of brief record of her daily moods--she had so much time now that
she saw less of Geoffrey Alison--gradually burgeoned into something
even more colossal.

They never had been quite her own sensations in this second volume.
Those were so extremely dull! No, they had been those of some one like
herself: a young wife with a busy husband, some one who felt a fool and
wanted not to, wanted very much, but he quite liked it really----oh
yes, sometimes, the first day or two, she felt a cad. Hubert really
wasn't the least bit like that; it was all over-done; but she supposed
that it was easier--he always said it was--if you exaggerated than if
you just kept to the truth. It all seemed rather horrid, somehow. She
thought about tearing up the book.

And then--just about the time of the Kit Kat affair--began the real,
astounding, secret.

Virginia, as she called the wife inwardly (for it was all in the first
person)--Virginia began to grow!

It was not Helena's own moods and feelings now that went upon the
paper: something endlessly more thorough, more intense, more--well,
Helena's own word was "sloppy."

Frankly she despised Virginia. That scene about the Kit Kats came into
her diary (it was not Helena's), quite different, about a different
thing in fact, and more hysterical. She hoped she would not end up
like Virginia! Yet in a way she saw herself there too, just as beneath
the husband she could detect ever so cruel a parody of Hubert in his
most naughty moments....

But oh, what fun it was!

When Hubert got up nowadays with some remark like; "Well, _I_ must do
my work!" she no longer felt lonely or out in the cold or inferior or
anything. She just said to herself: "And so must I."

It was too splendid, having secrets.

She told nobody; not even Ally, who liked her to be ambitious.

No, it was her secret.

CHAPTER XIV

WAS IT WORTH WHILE?

Love in a cottage is admittedly no failure, quite delightful; but those
who have