and when Brookhollow seems
very, very far away, it troubles me a little to find that I am not
nearly so homesick as I think I ought to be. But I think it must be
like seasickness; it is too frightful to last.

The Princess Mistchenka has nursed me through the worst. All I can say
is that she is very wonderful.

On her day, which is Thursday, her pretty _salon_ is thronged. At
first I was too shy and embarrassed to be anything but frightened and
self-conscious and very miserable when I sat beside her on her
Thursdays. Besides, I was in mourning and did not appear on formal
occasions.

Now it is different; I take my place beside her; I am not
self-conscious; I am interested; I find pleasure in knowing people who
are so courteous, so considerate, so gay and entertaining.

Everybody is agreeable and gay, and I am sorry that I miss so much
that is witty in what is said; but I am learning French very rapidly.

The men are polite to me! At first I was so _gauche_, so stupid and
provincial, that I could not bear to have anybody kiss my hand and pay
me compliments. I've made a lot of other mistakes, too, but I never
make the same mistake twice.

So many interesting men come to our Thursdays; and some women. I
prefer the men, I think. There is one old French General who is a
dear; and there are young officers, too; and yesterday two cabinet
ministers and several people from the British and Russian embassies.
And the Turkish Charge, whom I dislike.

The women seem to be agreeable, and they all are most beautifully
gowned. Some have titles. But all seem to be a little too much made
up. I don't know any of them except formally. But I feel that I know
some of the men better--especially the old General and a young
military attache of the Russian Embassy, whom everybody likes and
pets, and whom everybody calls Prince Erlik--such a handsome boy! And
his real name is Alak, and I think he is very much in love with
Princess Naia.

Now, something very odd has happened which I wish to tell you about.
My father, as you know, was missionary in the Vilayet of Trebizond
many years ago. While there he came into possession of a curious sea
chest belonging to a German named Conrad Wilner, who was killed in a
riot near Gallipoli.

In this chest were, and still are, two very interesting things--an old
bronze Chinese figure which I used to play with when I was a child. It
was called the Yellow Devil; and a native Chinese missionary once r