"Just three days more, precious mother, and I will leave for home.
I've seen such remarkable things; heard such wonderful music; been to
so many parties and luncheons and teas and dinners; met so many
people, some fearfully, dreadfully dressed, some beautifully,
gorgeously gowned, that my brain is a plum-pudding, and my mind mere
moving pictures. It's been a lovely visit. Channing is a dear, and
Hope has done her full duty, but it's something of a strain to dwell
in the tents of the wealthy. I'm so glad we're not wealthy, mother.
There are hundreds of things I'd like money for, but I've gotten to
be as afraid of it as I am of potato-bugs when the plants are well
up. It has a way of making you think things that aren't so. I do
hope Uncle Bushrod's cold is better.
"I've tried to fill all the orders from everybody, but some I haven't
found yet. Hope and her friends shop only in the expensive stores,
and the prices are so paralyzing that, though outwardly I don't
blink, I'm inwardly appalled; but I put the things aside as if
undecided whether to get them or something nicer. I'm afraid I don't
mean I'm glad we're not wealthy. Certainly when shopping I don't
wish it. I want millions then. Millions! And when I get among the
books I'd like to be a billionaire.
Pages:
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77