, I
am getting into a frame of mind to want to be an Aunt Hepsy. There is
so much sawdust in everything--No, I'm not low-spirited. I'm just
philosophical--I've a mind to write a life of Aunt Hepsy, and let the
world see what a real useful life is."

And here is a passage from the latest:--"What an interesting story your
friend--I hope he isn't you friend, for I don't half like him--has made
out of that Mavick girl! If I were the girl's mother I should want to
roast him over the coals. Is there any truth in it?

"Of course I read it, as everybody did and read the crawl out, and
looked for more. So it is partly our fault, but what a shame it is,
the invasion of family life! Do tell me, if you happen to see her--the
girl--driving in the Park or anywhere--of course you never will--what
she looks like. I should like to see an unsophisticated millionaire-ess!
But it is an awfully interesting problem, invented or not I'm pretty
deep in psychology these days, and I'd give anything to come in contact
with that girl. You would just see a woman, and you wouldn't know. I'd
see a soul. Dear me, if I'd only had the chance of that Scotch woman!
Don't you see, if we could only get to really know one mind and soul, we
should know it all. I mean scientifically. I know what you are thinking,
that all women have that chance. What you think is impertinent--to the
subject."

Indeed, the story of Evelyn interested everybody. It was taken up
seriously in the country regions. It absorbed New York gossip for two
days, and then another topic took possession of the mercurial city; but
it was the sort of event to take possession of the country mind. New
York millionaires get more than their share of attention in the country
press at all times, but this romance became the subject of household
talk and church and sewing-circle gossip, and all the women were eager
for more details, and speculated endlessly about the possible character
and career of the girl.

Alice wrote Philip from Rivervale that her aunt Patience was very much
excited by it. "'The poor thing,' she said, 'always to have somebody
poking round, seeing every blessed thing you do or don't do; it would
drive me crazy. There is that comfort in not having anything much--you
have yourself. You tell Philip that I hope he doesn't go there often.
I've no objection to his being kind to the poor thing when they meet,
and doing neighborly things, but I do hope he won't get mixed up with
that