Dear Enemy

You were so terribly gruff last night when I tried to thank you for giving my boys such a wonderful day that I didn’t have a chance to express half of the appreciation I felt.

What on earth is the matter with you, Sandy? You used to be a tolerably nice man—in spots, but these last three or four months you have only been nice to other people, never to me. We have had from the first a long series of misunderstandings and foolish contretemps, but after each one we seemed to reach a solider basis of understanding, until I had thought our friendship was on a pretty firm foundation, capable of withstanding any reasonable shock.

And then came that unfortunate evening last June when you overheard some foolish impolitenesses, which I did not in the slightest degree mean; and from then on you faded into the distance. Really, I have felt terribly bad about it, and have wanted to apologize, but your manner has not been inviting of confidence. It isn’t that I have any excuse or explanation to offer; I haven’t. You know how foolish and silly I am on occasions, but you will just have to realize that though I’m flippant and foolish and trivial on top, I am pretty solid inside; and you’ve got to forgive the silly part. The Pendletons knew that long ago, or they wouldn’t have sent me up here. I have tried hard to pull off an honest job, partly because I wanted to justify their judgment, partly because I was really interested in giving the poor little kiddies their share of happiness, but mostly, I actually believe, because I wanted to show you that your first derogatory opinion of me was ill founded. Won’t you please expunge that unfortunate fifteen minutes at the porte-cochere last June, and remember instead the fifteen hours I spent reading the Kallikak Family?

I would like to feel that we’re friends again.

SALLIE McBRIDE.