together with a friend of mine on a visit to a lady, and in the course of conversation our hostess directed a reproach at my companion, blam-ing her for having failed to accept an invitation to lunch at her house. Salwa — for that is her name — stammered, and took refuge in silence; then she turned to me, whispering: Did my face turn very red? It was an embarrassing situation, without doubt, and how often we are forced to face its like in our lives. You may fail to answer an invitation, or stain a friend's dress with coffee without meaning to, or be late in returning a loan to your friend. Did you think, at such a moment, of your duty?... Hasten to send a bunch

of flowers, or a card in which you apologize with tact for your lapse, keeping as far as you can from any mention of having forgotten that engagement — for by that you would make your friend feel your indifference toward her.

These are various pictures I have set before you, and no doubt you have followed their sequence. Will you turn back with me, then, to the atmosphere of love once more? But take note that I shall not touch here upon your married life — and the strangeness of my subject may not please you — I merely propose to you that you not be a woman overflowing with favors and sacrifice toward your husband. This may anger you, or

anger the man, at first sight; so here is the explanation, lest you be hasty in judging my opinion.

A class of wretched men are married to ideal women, while the happy among them live with women who think of no one but themselves. This saying seems strange, because the idea settled in our depths is that the other sex — I mean the men — are the holders of authority, caring for nothing but the gratification of their whims, while woman finds her happiness in service and sacrifice. I grant that a man gains happiness of soul when he comes to the help of his partner; so if a woman goes to extremes in sacrifice, she robs him of this inner satisfaction.