but Mr. Gordon
Hallock, on his way back to Washington to resume the cares of the
nation. At least he said it was on his way, but I notice from the map in
the primary room that it was one hundred miles out of his way.

And dear, but I was glad to see him! He is the first glimpse of the
outside world I have had since I was incarcerated in this asylum. And
such a lot of entertaining businesses he had to talk about! He knows the
inside of all the outside things you read in the newspapers; so far as I
can make out, he is the social center about which Washington revolves.
I always knew he would get on in politics, for he has a way with him;
there's no doubt about it.

You can't imagine how exhilarated and set-up I feel, as though I'd come
into my own again after a period of social ostracism. I must confess
that I get lonely for some one who talks my kind of nonsensical talk.
Betsy trots off home every week end, and the doctor is conversational
enough, but, oh, so horribly logical! Gordon somehow seems to stand for
the life I belong to,--of country clubs and motors and dancing and sport
and politeness,--a poor, foolish, silly life, if you will, but mine own.
And I have missed it. This serving society business is theoretically
admirable and compelling and interesting, but deadly stupid in its
working details. I am afraid I was never born to set the crooked
straight.

I tried to show Gordon about and make him take an interest in the
babies, but he wouldn't glance at them. He thinks I came just to spite
him, which, of course, I did. Your siren call would never have lured me
from the path of frivolity had Gordon not been so unpleasantly hilarious
at the idea of my being able to manage an orphan asylum. I came here to
show him that I could; and now, when I can show him, the beast refuses
to look.

I invited him to dinner, with a warning about the pressed veal; but he
said no, thanks, that I needed a change. So we went to Brantwood Inn and
had broiled lobster. I had positively forgotten that the creatures were
edible.

This morning at seven o'clock I was wakened by the furious ringing of
the telephone bell. It was Gordon at the station, about to resume his
journey to Washington. He was in quite a contrite mood about the asylum,
and apologized largely for refusing to look at my children. It was not
that he didn't like orphans, he said; it was just that he didn't like
them in juxtaposition to me. And to prove his good intentions