"Perhaps I have. Shall I teach you?"
"You will have to learn moderation, my dear Judith," I remarked.
"You have been living too rapidly of late and are looking tired."
"It is only the journey," she replied.
I am sure it is the unaccustomed dissipation. Judith is not a
strong woman, and late hours and eternal gadding about do not
suit her constitution. She has lost weight and there are faint
circles under her eyes. There are lines, too, on her face which
only show in hours of physical strain. I was proceeding to
expound this to her at some length, for I consider it well for
women to have some one to counsel them frankly in such matters,
when she interrupted me with a gesture of impatience.
"There, there! Tell me what you have been doing with yourself.
Your letters gave me very little information."
"I am afraid," said I, "I am a poor letter writer."
"I read each ten times over," she said.
I kissed her hand in acknowledgment. Then I rose, lit a
cigarette and walked about the room. Judith shook out her skirts
and settled herself comfortably among the sofa-cushions.
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