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needed a home and all that. She needed a place for her friends to come. She was fourteen or so. I was devoted to her, thought a great deal of her, put a great deal into her. I happened to like the apartment that I had. I had gotten up some nice old things from the country. It looked perfectly lovely and had a kind of charm and style, with good old things that had belonged to my grandmother that I'd picked up in the country. It was altogether very nice. We had a very happy home. It was large enough to give a dinner party in, have children in. We had comfortable places to sleep. Everything worked. I had a good maid, and oh such a good cook. Everything was just as nice as it could be. I had a visiting governess who was very nice and very acceptable. She filled in for the things that I couldn't do myself. Everything seemed to be just right. Susanna was going to her first little parties. Everything was just fine.

When I got home and saw how pleasant my room was, how pleasant my child was, how much my hopes were based on living a good life right there, I was terrified at what I had accepted. I was devoted to my parish church which was nearby and which we all enjoyed and thought a great deal of. When I got home, I found myself crying, walking up and down my room with tears streaming down my face, sobbing away. My child said then, and has said afterwards, that in her entire life she never