you and me, my dear Irene, I fancy there is rather less of that in
the branch of art under consideration than to girls in their first
season. I fancy I know how my fine gentleman produces many of his
effects, and could, perhaps, give him a pointer on heightening
them. Nevertheless, his manner is something truly delightful. I
suppose what interests me chiefly is the man's brains. His
conversation is the best I have ever heard, and altogether unlike
anyone's else. He seems to know everything, as, indeed, he ought,
for he has been everywhere, read everything, seen all there is to
see--sometimes I think rather more than is good for him--and had
acquaintance with the QUEEREST people. And then his voice--Irene,
when I hear it I actually feel as if I ought to have PAID AT THE
DOOR, though, of course, it is my own door.


July 3d.

I fear my remarks about Dr. Barritz must have been, being
thoughtless, very silly, or you would not have written of him with
such levity, not to say disrespect. Believe me, dearest, he has
more dignity and seriousness (of the kind, I mean, which is not
inconsistent with a manner sometimes playful and always charming)
than any of the men that you and I ever met. And young Raynor--you
knew Raynor at Monterey--tells me that the men all like him, and
that he is treated with something like deference everywhere. There
is a mystery, too--something about his connection with the
Blavatsky people in Northern India. Raynor either would not or
could not tell me the particulars. I infer that Dr. Barritz is
thought--don't you dare to laugh at me--a magician! Could anything
be finer than that? An ordinary mystery is not, of course, as good