Mama. Old fashioned as Mama was, and in those days and in my country, brides did not leave their husbands so quickly for any reason, Mama said, "You are not happy? Then you come home to your Mama and Papa again."

But I stayed with Pasquale because I loved him. Nothing ever changed except to get worse, but still I stayed. And when I stopped loving him, it was too late. Already there were three babies. . .

But now I think of myself, "Are you getting silly in the head, Lina? This is no husband and wife, but only a foolish girl who picks the wrong kind of friend for herself.”

So there I am, washing dishes at ten o'clock in the night while Pasquale snores in the next room . . . and I am worrying about the little one walking by herself outside. It is time for me to lock up the luncheonette, but I will wait for her to come back. I think I ought to say to her what is in my heart. I ought to say, it is not worth it, for love or for friendship, to suffer and waste yourself. We are all people alike, and it is good to love, but we must also respect ourselves. For children we sacrifice, but it is not right for grown people to make children of themselves and drain the life and soul out of somebody else. . .

But when she came back, of course I do not say any of these things. It is not my business, after all.

They left early the next day, and Jane has a hug for me and even for Pasquale. She says maybe they will come back soon.

Today Jane stopped in with some friends. It is nearly a month since she and Ron were here and I had almost forgotten about them. She says, "I'm not staying, Mom. We're just down for the day. But I had to stop in to see you. And we'll have some lunch."

They sit at a table and have some hamburgers and coffee, and Jane is laughing and talking with her friends. I am glad. I think, "She is better now. And when she comes to tell me good-bye, I ask, "How is Ron?" Quickly she says, "All right, I suppose. I haven't seen her for awhile." She smiles but her eyes are very sad.

I know I'm a sentimental old woman, but I had to go back to the kitchen and cry a little.

I would appreciate information or memorabilia anyone might have on Dame Ethel Smyth. I am particularly interested in any light that could be thrown on the censored first sentence of the letter from Virginia Woolf on page 236 of the St. John biography.

A. E. Smith

c/o ONE, 2256 Venice Blvd., L. A. 6

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