MAY 87 



Petunia's poetical taste is not of the highest order 

 and remembered to sigh at the right moment. She 

 said she thought the " Psalm of Life " the truest 

 picture ever painted of a woman's heart. She said 

 she was convinced that the sublimest thing in the 

 world was suffering and being strong. I cordially 

 agreed with her, and instanced my persistent 

 romneya coulteri. She remarked sadly that a 

 woman's heart was of more value than any romneya 

 coidteri. I replied that something might depend 

 upon the state of the heart. She said she supposed 

 it was time to go, and then she sat down again, and 

 I knew that neither jest nor insult would dislodge 

 her until she had unburdened herself; so I made 

 haste to say once more the words I have so often 

 repeated in these last months, " Petunia, dearest, 

 tell me what is troubling you." 



Of course, I knew very well what was troubling 

 her. I could not be certain of its name, for this is 

 subject to chances and changes, but I can always 

 sketch in as a preliminary the bare facts and out- 

 line of the story. Although there may be bore- 

 dom for me, there will be no surprises in Petunia's 

 narrative. 



It appears that her Mr. Mumby of the moment, 

 whom she has adored for over three weeks, went 

 away yesterday without telling his love. I do not 

 quite grasp whether this is the original Mr. Mumby, 

 or another Mr. Mumby, or yet again a different 

 person with Mumby-like charms, but the name in 

 any case will serve as a generic term, though if 

 I had been Petunia I should have chosen a better 

 while I was about it. I do not like to inquire too 



