I tried to show Gordon about and make him take an interest in
the babies, but he wouldn't glance at them. He thinks I came
just to spite him, which, of course, I did. Your siren call
would never have lured me from the path of frivolity had Gordon
not been so unpleasantly hilarious at the idea of my being able
to manage an orphan asylum. I came here to show him that I
could; and now, when I can show him, the beast refuses to look.

I invited him to dinner, with a warning about the pressed
veal; but he said no, thanks, that I needed a change. So we went
to Brantwood Inn and had broiled lobster. I had positively
forgotten that the creatures were edible.

This morning at seven o'clock I was wakened by the furious
ringing of the telephone bell. It was Gordon at the station,
about to resume his journey to Washington. He was in quite a
contrite mood about the asylum, and apologized largely for
refusing to look at my children. It was not that he didn't like
orphans, he said; it was just that he didn't like them in
juxtaposition to me. And to prove his good intentions, he would
send them a bag of peanuts.

I feel as fresh and revivified after my little fling as
though I'd had a real vacation. There's no doubt about it, an
hour or so of exciting talk is more of a tonic to me than a pint
of iron and strychnine pills.

You owe me two letters, dear Madam. Pay them TOUT DE SUITE,
or I lay down my pen forever.