heard such wonderful music; been to
so many parties and luncheons and teas and dinners; met so many
people, some fearfully, dreadfully dressed, some beautifully,
gorgeously gowned, that my brain is a plum-pudding, and my mind mere
moving pictures. It's been a lovely visit. Channing is a dear, and
Hope has done her full duty, but it's something of a strain to dwell
in the tents of the wealthy. I'm so glad we're not wealthy, mother.
There are hundreds of things I'd like money for, but I've gotten to
be as afraid of it as I am of potato-bugs when the plants are well
up. It has a way of making you think things that aren't so. I do
hope Uncle Bushrod's cold is better.

"I've tried to fill all the orders from everybody, but some I haven't
found yet. Hope and her friends shop only in the expensive stores,
and the prices are so paralyzing that, though outwardly I don't
blink, I'm inwardly appalled; but I put the things aside as if
undecided whether to get them or something nicer. I'm afraid I don't
mean I'm glad we're not wealthy. Certainly when shopping I don't
wish it. I want millions then. Millions! And when I get among the
books I'd like to be a billionaire. To-morrow I'm going out by
myself and finish up everything. Hope would be horrified at my
purchases, for Hope has forgotten when she, too, had to be careful in
her expenditures. Her brother hasn't.

"Did I tell you about the crazy mistake I made? I thought, from what
Dorothea told me, he was an old gentleman, her mother's uncle, and
wrote him a note before I met him. Dorothea adores him, and when his
dog died I was so sorry I told him so. I wonder what does make me do
such impulsive things! I get so discouraged about myself. I'll
never, never be a proper person. He isn't old.

"I wish you could see the letter Beverly wrote me from Mammy
Malaprop. She says she is 'numberating the date of my return to the
dissolute land in which I live, and is a-preparing to serve for
supper all the indelicacies of the season.' If I didn't know old
Malaprop I'd think Beverly was making up her messages, but no
imagination could conceive of her twists and turns of the English
language.

"Are the hens laying at all? and please tell Andrews to watch the
sheep carefully; it's so bitterly cold.

"I've had a beautiful time, but, oh, mother dear, I shall be so glad
to get home, where there are real things to do and where you all love
me just for myself! Every night I