timation. Yet, having carefully regarded myself in the mirror, and
finding no discolorations, and feeling no wounds or contusions, I think
my pedestal must have been very near the earth, else I would be
conscious of some bruises.

And now, Jane, to be frank, I am very glad to be off my perch.

I do not want to dwell upon a pedestal.

It necessitates a monotonous life, and it is an unsocial position.

I prefer to walk on the earth, among my fellow creatures.

You were greatly shocked, I saw, when I told my little Russian guest
that she might light her cigarette in my boudoir. Your sudden departure
told its own story, and your letter was no surprise. But I am glad you
wrote me so frankly, as it gives me the opportunity to be equally frank.

There is nothing more beneficial, in true friendship, than a free
exchange of honest criticisms.

You tell me that I lowered my standard by lending countenance to a
pernicious and unladylike habit. You felt I owed it to myself, as a good
woman, and to my home, as a respectable house, to show my unswerving
principles in this matter, and to indicate my disapproval of a
disgusting vice, which is growing in our midst.

Life is too short, my dear Jane, in which to achieve all our ideals, and
to arrive at all our goals.

I have learned the futility of attempting to reform the whole world in
one day. And I have also learned that there are more roads than one, to
all destinations.

Miss Ordosky is the daughter of a dear old friend of my youth, who
married a Russian nobleman with more titles than dollars.

Her parents are dead, and Wanda has come to her mother's native land, to
teach her father's language. She has come with all her Russian habits
and ideas accented by her mother's American indifference to public
opinion. The girl is young, lovely, and wholly dependent upon herself
for a livelihood. I invited her to be my guest for two months, before
establishing herself in her business, with the hope of helping her to
adapt herself somewhat to American ideas and customs.

I could never hope for such a result, had I antagonized her the first
day under my roof by an austere attitude toward a habit which I knew she
had been reared to think proper.

I do not like to see a woman smoke, and I regret as much as you do the
increasing prevalence of the vice in America.

Like almost every schoolgirl, I had my day of thinking a surreptitious,
cigarette was wonderfully cunning.

That day