telephone rings from the moment we wake until we go out, and reporters wait
to pounce upon us if we leave our rooms. We are entertained at countless
feasts, and to-morrow we are going down town to lunch at a city restaurant,
after seeing the Stock Exchange, so I will tell you of that presently. We
can't do or say a thing that a totally different and garbled version of it
does not appear in the papers, often with pictures; and yesterday, while
Octavia was out with me, she was made to have given an interview upon
whether or no Mr. Roosevelt should propose a law to enforce American wives
to each have at least six children! It is printed that she asked how many
husbands they were allowed, and the reporter lady who writes the interview
expresses herself as quite shocked; but Octavia said, when she read it this
morning, that she thought whoever was speaking for her asked a very
sensible question. What do you think, Mamma? Octavia is enchanted with all
these things, and is keeping a large scrap book. But the one we like best
was in the Sunday's paper, when there was a full sheet with dark hints as
to our private lives by "One Who Knows."

All the history of the little dancer Ottalie Cheveny was tacked on to
Octavia's past! The name sounding something the same is quite enough reason
for its being Octavia's story here! Tom is having this one put with his
collection for the smoking-room, because he says when Octavia "fluffs"
(that, I think, means "ruffles") him, he will be able to look up at it and
think of "what might have been!"

I am said to be here while a divorce is being arranged by my family because
Harry has gone off to India with a fair haired widow!!! Think, Mamma, of
his rage when I send him a copy. Isn't it lovely?

We are enjoying ourselves more than I can say, and they are perfect dears,
most of the people who entertain us;--so gay and merry and kind;--and we