who combines to a
unique degree the qualities of chambermaid and chauffeur.

The library, though not the most cheerful room I have ever seen,
still, for a man's house, is not so bad--books all around from floor to
ceiling, with the overflow in piles on floor and table and mantelpiece;
half a dozen abysmal leather chairs and a rug or so, with another black
marble mantelpiece, but this time containing a crackling wood fire. By
way of bric-a-brac, he has a stuffed pelican and a crane with a frog in
its mouth, also a raccoon sitting on a log, and a varnished tarpon. A
faint suggestion of iodoform floats in the air.

The doctor made the coffee himself in a French machine, and we dismissed
his housekeeper from our spirits. He really did do his best to be a
thoughtful host and I have to report that the word "insanity" was not
once mentioned. It seems that Sandy, in his moments of relaxation, is a
fisherman. He and Percy began swapping stories of salmon and trout, and
he finally got out his case of fishing flies, and gallantly presented
Betsy and me with a "silver doctor" and a "Jack Scott" out of which
to make hatpins. Then the conversation wandered to sport on the Scotch
moors, and he told about one time when he was lost, and spent the night
out in the heather. There is no doubt about it, Sandy's heart is in the
highlands.

I am afraid that Betsy and I have wronged him. Though it is hard to
relinquish the interesting idea, he may not, after all, have committed a
crime. We are now leaning to the belief that he was crossed in love.

It's really horrid of me to make fun of poor Sandy, for, despite his
stern bleakness of disposition, he's a pathetic figure of a man. Think
of coming home after an anxious day's round to eat a solitary dinner in
that grim dining room!

Do you suppose it would cheer him up a little if I should send my
company of artists to paint a frieze of rabbits around the wall?

With love, as usual,

SALLIE.

Dear Judy:

Aren't you ever coming back to New York? Please hurry! I need a new hat,
and am desirous of shopping for it on Fifth Avenue, not on Water Street.
Mrs. Gruby, our best milliner, does not believe in slavishly following
Paris Fashions; she originates her own styles. But three years ago, as
a great concession to convention, she did make a tour of the New York
shops, and is still creating models on the uplift of that visit.

Also, besides my own hat, I must buy 113 hats for my children,