Dear Enemy

I know I'm horribly egotistical and selfish; I ought to be thinking

of poor Gordon's broken heart. But really it would just be a pose if I

pretended to be very sorrowful. He'll find some one else with just as

conspicuous hair as mine, who will make just as effective a hostess, and

who won't be bothered by any of these damned modern ideas about public

service and woman's mission and all the rest of the tomfoolery the

modern generation of women is addicted to. (I paraphrase, and soften our

young man's heartbroken utterances.)

Good-by, dear people. How I wish I could stand with you on your beach

and look across the blue, blue sea! I salute the Spanish main.

ADDIO!

SALLIE.

January 27.

Dear Dr. MacRae:

I wonder if this note will be so fortunate as to find you awake? Perhaps

you are not aware that I have called four times to offer thanks and

consolation in my best bed-side manner? I am touched by the news that

Mrs. McGurk's time is entirely occupied in taking in flowers and jelly

and chicken broth, donated by the adoring ladies of the parish to

the ungracious hero in a plaster cast. I know that you find a cap of

homespun more comfortable than a halo, but I really do think that you

might have regarded me in a different light from the hysterical ladies

in question. You and I used to be friends (intermittently), and though

there are one or two details in our past intercourse that might better

be expunged, still I don't see why we should let them upset our entire

relationship. Can't we be sensible and expunge them?

The fire has brought out such a lot of unexpected kindliness and

charity, I wish it might bring out a little from you. You see, Sandy,

I know you well. You may pose to the world as being gruff and curt and

ungracious and scientific and inhuman and S C O T C H, but you can't

fool me. My newly trained psychological eye has been upon you for ten

months, and I have applied the Binet test. You are really kind and

sympathetic and wise and forgiving and big, so please be at home the

next time I come to see you, and we will perform a surgical operation

upon Time and amputate five months.

Do you remember the Sunday afternoon we ran away, and what a nice time

we had? It is now the day after that.

SALLIE McBRIDE.

P.S. If I condescend to call upon you again, please condescend to see

me, for I assure you I won't try more than once! Also, I assure you that

I won't drip tears on your counterpane or try to kiss your hand, as I

hear one admiring lady did.