We all know the sort of girl whom people never seem able to place with any exactness. She may be a very good friend of ours, but when we endeavour to recall her virtues to others they say vaguely: Misser-Brown? O yes, I think I must have met her at your home. Very good sort, isn't she." Then if you are foolish and press for a more particular description you will doubtless hear that she seemed pleasant, or looked sensible or some other equally nondescript phrase which may or may not be applicable.
Not so with Jean Jones. " Remember her? I should say I do. She's the girl who insists on the Lucy Stone League" or "Know her? She'd waste a good dance any time to talk about Wells' novels," " That brainy talker," That bobbed hair extremist," That ultra-feminist in the memorable colour schemes?" By which you may be assured that Jean is bound to be remembered. Not perhaps always as she would like to be, but at least remembered.
I suppose we would all like to be remembered. It is a good deal of a jolt to reflect that our names, our tastes in poetry, our preference for one or two lumps of sugar are so easily forgotten. Of course we would wish to be remembered at our best, but most of us would prefer to be hated rather than ignored. As one kindergarten termagant said when remonstrated with for biting her favourite play-mae as she bade him good-bye: "TY wanted to be sure he'd remember me!"
Some individualists seem to think, however, that in order to be remembered it is necessary to insist upon one's personality every moment of the time. That is a dangerous principle to carry to an extreme, however, since consciously or subconsciously audiences will rebel and determine not to be so easily tricked into remembering something unpleasant. A shrieking emphasis on one's personality and "difference" may defeat its own aims, for in this as in_ other things, she who loses herself shall find herself."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.