MY DEAR MOTHER: So far from the monopolizing effect of minor matters of which I complained in my last, I seem to be losing my individuality altogether. Have you ever possessed your mind of one subject or object to the absolute exclusion of even yourself? What an unpleasant condition of mind it is! The baron I find to be a man most peculiarly constituted. The somewhat dominant manner which you suppose to be foreign breeding, as you expressed it, seems to have developed into an engrossing self-consequence, which appears to draw its vitality, if I may be pardoned for saying so, largely from his new marital connection. For instance, at the opening of the season we attended the Emperor’s Easter ball. According to our customs, after concluding the first dance with the baron, I accepted a waltz with an English nobleman, whom I had met on some previous occasion. We were resting for a moment after a round of the spacious ballroom when I felt my arm seized from behind, and with a muttered oath the baron commanded my instant release and return home. What should I have done? Disregard him and precipitate a scandal? Impossible. I made excuse in some hypothetical disarrangement of my dress and retired. I am only able to write because it is my left arm which suffered the accident. The subsequent explanations of the baron were, of course, frivolous, but I was too relieved by any form of apology to add words, which, without reference to their significance, always irritate him. I mention this little incident in order to show you how it is that my visible life is subordinated, albeit my spirit is in no way depressed though severely harassed. As I write I am doubtful if I ought to speak of these things at all. I do not ask myself what is due to my rank here, for that was conferred by him, but is it womanly to stand before the world an intelligent and willing indorser of his character and conduct, having given my public vows for better or worse, and then, cowering behind his faults, denounce such acts as only, at worst, affect me? Indeed, I must exercise more courage and less candor. One thing is certain, I am constantly looking for the better traits in his nature, and am making every effort to call them forth. Thus I escape self-reproach at least. But I am self-abashed at my attitude, for I abhor dissembling. The baron loves to taunt me with this trait, which he calls rudeness, and declares it to be the result of my “Yankee training.” I only smile at this, for, as I have said, he cannot brook discussion.