I wish I could tell you about “La Belle Hélène,” but I’m not much for descriptions. She’s different from any girl I ever knew--not very tall, but awfully good figure--fixes her hair like those stunning girls of Gibson’s you know, and she’s got a way of looking at a fellow--earnest and yet half laughing--that’s enough to drive one out of one’s senses. She’s got that _je ne sais quoi_, you know--something awfully fetching and magnetic and all that sort of thing. (You’ll think me a drivelling idiot!) She wore a beauty of a gown, white satin--or gauze, I’m not sure which. Was going to ask Claghart--being an artist he’s up to such fine distinctions--but forgot it. I say, Grace, why don’t your gowns look like that? You’d better ask her who built hers. Tell you what, she’s just fascinating--not stiff or uppish a bit, but she’s got a certain sort of dignity you girls don’t seem to acquire, some way or other. She simply hoodooed old Gray, not to mention Percy Beaufort, the Professor, and several dozen others, including your devoted brother. There was one solemn moment at the cotillion when every man in the room was around her. The other girls looked black, I promise you! What the deuce, Grace, makes you girls so jealous? I actually believe Eleanor didn’t like her cousin’s brilliant success at all, and yet you told me she was so anxious about it. Can’t make you girls out. You say she’s been to college all her life and is awfully smart? Well, I suppose she is--she looks that way--but she didn’t come any of it on us. And yet she’s clever, that’s sure, for she knows all the points of difference between the Rugby and Association game, and I heard her talking golf with Claghart and telling Professor Radnor that dancing was a healthful amusement, and he was asking her, in the most idiotic way, if she’d teach him the two-step. Wasn’t that rich! And old Gray said to a lot of fellows in the smoking-room that, “By Jove, she was the handsomest girl he’d seen in a quarter of a century, and that if she was an example of a college-bred girl he wished they’d _all_ go to college.” Well, I must stop. I really believe, Grace, this is the longest letter I ever wrote, and I want you to put it to my credit--understand? and the next time I try to arrange a trip to Mount Vernon with certain people, you’ll please be more amenable to reason--See? I think I’ve told you everything except that I’m going to stop here for a few days--they’re always asking me, you know, and I told Margaret last night that I’d accept this time. Eleanor looked as if she didn’t half like it. Why not, do you suppose? But I can’t tear myself away. I’m desperately in love with “La Belle Hélène,” besides I’m awfully interested in watching the running between Claghart and Montrose. It will be a close finish, I think, with Claghart in the lead, Montrose a good second, and a full field not far behind. Excuse sporting instincts and language. As ever, your aff. brother, JERRY.