d absolute power. Now that she sees it is worth more
than all the rest put together, she is in such a rage with Mother
that it is really absurd. She does not want us to go to Paris and
is furious at the idea of Kent's "stopping work," as she calls it.
She has got out this injunction just to keep us from going, I
believe, as she is intelligent enough to know there is no use in
trying to get ahead of a mighty Trust, and they will have to win in
the end; but she had an idea that we would not go unless we had
plenty of money to have a good time on. She little knows our
Mother, in spite of being her sister.

Mother says she believes it will be more fun and easier to
economize in Paris than in Kentucky; and she is as gay as a lark
over the prospect. Kent may be able to come later and take that
much talked of and longed for course in Architecture at the Beaux
Arts. In the meantime, he is very busy and, as he says, "making
good with his boss." Mother refuses to discuss Aunt Clay's behavior
and actually goes to see her as though nothing had happened; but I
know she has had many a sleepless night, brooding over her sister's
unsisterly act.

I am longing to see you, dearest Nance, and wish you could manage
to meet me in New York before we sail, but if you can't, be sure to
have a letter on the steamer for me. We are going on a slow boat to
Antwerp. We think the long sea trip will be good for Mother, who is
tired out with all this worry and the work of getting Chatsworth in
condition to leave; and besides, the slow boats are much cheaper.
_Laurens_ is the name of our boat, sailing from Hoboken. I will
write you from Paris, where Julia Kean is already installed and
hard at work on her beloved art.

I am afraid you will think I am horrid about Aunt Clay. Mother says
she is the only person she ever knew me to feel bitter about. So
she is, but then she is the only person who was ever mean to my
beloved Mother. Maybe when my hair turns gray I can be as much of a
lady as Mother is, but so far I am too red-headed to be a perfect
lady.

I am going to miss you, Nance, more than I can tell you. We have
been roommates for five years at college, and never once did we
have a shadow of a disagreement. Of course we occasionally got in a
kind of penumbra. Once I