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Perhaps I might have
found one to love--if it had not been for the others. I was surrounded
wherever I went and if by chance I found a pleasant man to talk to,
_tete-a-tete,_ we were interrupted by other men coming up. Only a few
even of the men whom I met could gain an _entree_ to our house.--They
weren't thought good enough. If a working, serious man had ever been
able to see enough of me to love me, he probably would have had very
little opportunity to press his suit. But the few men I might have cared
for were frightened off by my money, or discouraged by my popularity and
exclusiveness. They did not even try. Of course I did not understand it
then. I gloried in my success and did not see the wrong it was doing me.
I was absolutely happy at home, and really had not the slightest
inducement to marry--especially among the men I saw the most. I led
this life for six years. Then my mother's death put me in mourning. When
I went back into society, an almost entirely new set of men had
appeared.


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