In other words, the athletic girl broke down.
Books enter little into the life of this girl, yet she—may—belong to a reading society. The following (writer, an athletic girl) bears witness to that fact—
“Our next Shakespeare reading is next Tuesday. Last year I never took part in them, but am going to this year, though I rather hate them. Twelfth Night is the play chosen, and I have been given two rotten parts where I have to say every now and then, ‘Good my lord,’ and ‘Prithee, tell me.’”
The same girl writes—
“I have just read a most frightfully good book, The Prisoner of Zenda. It is simply the thrillingest thing that ever was written.”
In another letter she writes—
“Do you know the poetry of Gordon? An Australian man. All about horses. First-class.”
The margin-note style is in peculiar favour with the athletic girl.
The personal note is one seldom struck by this girl, and the elegiac note is one scarcely ever struck by her. Even when she has a grievance she keeps a high heart. Who but she could write—
“For some extraordinary and unknown reason my head is aching. It is such a novel sensation that I rather like it.”