ear, I quite tremble when he looks me full in the eyes
with those unfathomable orbs of his, which I have already vainly
attempted to describe to you. How dreadful if he has the power to make
one fall in love! Do you know if the Blavatsky crowd have that power--
outside of Sepoy?

JULY 16.

The strangest thing! Last evening while Auntie was attending one of the
hotel hops (I hate them) Dr. Barritz called. It was scandalously late--I
actually believe that he had talked with Auntie in the ballroom and
learned from her that I was alone. I had been all the evening contriving
how to worm out of him the truth about his connection with the Thugs in
Sepoy, and all of that black business, but the moment he fixed his eyes
on me (for I admitted him, I'm ashamed to say) I was helpless. I
trembled, I blushed, I--O Irene, Irene, I love the man beyond expression
and you know how it is yourself.

Fancy! I, an ugly duckling from Redhorse--daughter (they say) of old
Calamity Jim--certainly his heiress, with no living relation but an
absurd old aunt who spoils me a thousand and fifty ways--absolutely
destitute of everything but a million dollars and a hope in Paris,--I
daring to love a god like him! My dear, if I had you here I could tear
your hair out with mortification.

I am convinced that he is aware of my feeling, for he stayed but a few
moments, said nothing but what another man might have said half as well,
and pretending that he had an engagement went away. I learned to-day (a
little bird told me--the bell-bird) that he went straight to bed. How
does that strike you as evidence of exemplary habits?

JULY 17.

That little wretch, Raynor, called yesterday and his babble set me
almost wild. He never runs down--that is to say, when he exterminates a
score of reputations, more or less, he does not pause between one
reputation and the next. (By the way, he inquired about you, and his
manifestations of interest in you had, I confess, a good deal of
_vraisemblance._.) Mr. Raynor observes no game laws; like Death (which
he would inflict if slander were fatal) he has all seasons for his own.
But I like him, for we knew each other at Redhorse when we were young.
He was known in those days as "Giggles," and I--O Irene, can you ever
forgive me?--I was called "Gunny." God knows why; perhaps in allusion to
the material of my pinafores; perhaps because the name is in
alliteration with "Giggles," for Gig and I were inseparable playmates,
an