four feet to deep water, so that good and bad swimmers may enjoy it.  The marble margin of floor surrounding the pool is bordered with marble benches, placed between the white columns.  The walls of the great room are paneled with mirrors, so that there are endless reflections of columned corridors and pools and shimmering lights.  The ceiling is covered with a light trellis hung with vines, from which hang great greenish-white bunches of grapes holding electric lights.  One gets the impression of myriads of white columns, and of lights and shadows infinitely far-reaching.  Surely the old Romans knew no pleasanter place than this city-enclosed pool.

XVI

THE SMALL APARTMENT

This is the age of the apartment.  Not only in the great cities, but in the smaller centers of civilization the apartment has come to stay.  Modern women demand simplified living, and the apartment reduces the mechanical business of living to its lowest terms.  A decade ago the apartment was considered a sorry makeshift in America, though it has been successful abroad for more years than you would believe.  We Americans have been accustomed to so much space about us that it seemed a curtailment of family dignity to give up our gardens, our piazzas and halls, our cellars and attics, our front and rear entrances.  Now we are wiser.  We have just so much time, so much money and so much strength, and it behooves us to make the best of it.  Why should we give our time and strength and enthusiasm to drudgery, when our housework were better and more economically done by machinery and co-operation?  Why should we stultify our minds with doing the same things thousands of times over, when we might help ourselves and our friends to happiness by intelligent occupations and amusements?  The apartment is the solution of the living problems of the city, and it has been a direct influence on the houses of the towns, so simplifying the small-town business of living as well.

Of course, many of us who live in apartments either have a little house or a big one in the country for the summer months, or we plan for one some day!  So hard does habit die—­we cannot entirely divorce our ideas of Home from gardens and trees and green grass.  But I honestly think there is a reward for living in a slice of a house:  women who have lived long in the country sometimes take the beauty of it for granted, but the woman who has been hedged in by city walls gets the fine joy of out-of-doors when she is out of doors, and a pot of geraniums means more to her than a whole garden means to a woman who has been denied the privilege of watching things grow.

The modern apartment is an amazing illustration of the rapid development of an idea.  The larger ones are quite as magnificent as any houses could be.  I have recently furnished a Chicago apartment that included large and small salons, a huge conservatory, and a great group of superb rooms that are worthy of a palace.  There are apartment houses in New York that offer suites of fifteen to twenty rooms, with from five to ten baths, at yearly rentals that approximate wealth to the average man, but these apartments are for the few, and there are hundreds of thousands of apartments for the many that have the same essential conveniences.