Reviewing her amazing confessions to her sister-in-law, she was both sorry and not sorry.

Her mind was undoubtedly relieved, but at the price of showing to another her naked soul, and that other a woman--true, an unusual woman, by profession a confessor, but still a woman.

Thenceforth some one other than herself would know her as she really was--not at all the nice, delicate lady with instincts as fine as those of the heroines of novels, who, even at their most realistic, are pictured as fully and grandly dressed of soul in the solitude of bedroom as in crowded drawing-room.

"I don't care!" concluded Adelaide.

"If she, or anyone, thinks the worse of me for being a human being, it will show either hypocrisy or ignorance of human nature.".