I have been having a pleasant respite from the 113 cares of
motherhood.

Yesterday who should drop down upon our peaceful village 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.