human
and I heard Mrs. Radigan say that
gpt
which seemed to amuse Lite tremendously, though to me it sounded rather inane. Mrs. Radigan was an earnest believer in the simple life and regretted that she could not lead it. People did not realize the dreadful responsibilities that devolved on one who was born in our set. There was the endless round of calls, always boresome, and callers, often worse, and dinners and operas, and dances that we just had to go to. Sometimes she longed to get away from it all and go to some quiet place where she could study and store up riches in her own mind and do good to others. But there was Radigan; he simply could not live away from his clubs and his horses. He simply had to have excitement and terrapin, while she longed for repose and brown bread. The good woman heaved a sigh. I had never seen her in that mood before. But as I stood aside and surveyed her splendid massiveness, I forgave her, for I saw that, even did she so will it, she could not, like Diogenes, get into a tub. I fled lest I might forgetfully suggest this, and found rest with Miss Veal, in a simple white effect, very pretty, holding a large bunch of roses that I felt sure one of the Rollers Club fellows had sent her. She was talking sweetly about the weather to old Mr. Stuyvesant Mint, one of the bear customers. Mr. Mint, as I gathered from some five minutes' close attention, seemed convinced that it would rain before Sunday, and Miss Veal's views on the subject were summed up in a smile and an
human
Indeed.