Mrs. Wharton's Hothouse Produce Becomes Virile
The Story. If you marry into Fifth Avenue society at 21, bear a daughter when you are still fond of dancing, choke on the resultant respectability, accept a dapper clubman's advances' and slide out of New York Harbor with him on his yacht, leave him in Europe, later have an idyll with a boy-artist, who in turn leaves you, then it is a natural thing to settle quietly on the French Riviera. There your past blends with the background. You anoint your conscience with self-pity. You maneuver and wait in righteous patience for the boy-artist—or something...