Mr. S. and his daughter, a beautiful girl, arrived early this morning. As we are probably soon to leave Mexico, they are good enough to let us stay on in our present quarters for the remaining time, and will occupy the small apartment down-stairs. I had a great bunch of pale sweet-peas put in her room. Going to Chapultepec this afternoon with Aunt L., also taking Miss S. and Mrs. Parraga, a Mexican friend of Aunt L.'s, to be presented, after which we go to Madame Lefaivre's. _June 20th._ Administration faces were wreathed in smiles at the reception; the Orozco revolution is not only dying the usual unnatural death, but it seems likely to be interred. General Huerta knows the value of a few well-placed blows, but nothing seems to stay "put" here. Nearly every shade of Mexican has fitted himself out with one or more grievances, and underlying it all is that quite peculiar organization of Latin-American society whereby one set of opinions may be uniformly expressed in public, while the intellectual classes, in secret, hold entirely opposing ones. A terrible downpour during the reception. From the windows of _la vitrina_, as the long, glass-inclosed balcony leading out of the "Salon of the Ambassadors" is called, Mexico City was a damp, dull thing, buildings and streets showing as great dark scratchings. There was no light in the sky and the hills were obscured by curtain-like, formless clouds with coppery linings. When we got home it was still raining in torrents, and we descended in the adjacent garage. In doing so I caught my skirts, hung in air, and finally fell to the ground, my dress torn to bits and myself shaken to the same. When I looked at my hands to see if they were still hanging to my wrists, I saw that my big emerald was missing from its setting. It was not simply raining. The sky was opening and letting the water out, and it was quite dark in the garage. About a dozen Indians and several employees stood about. I cried, "_Mi esmeralda!_" and we all proceeded to look. I was passing my hand over the floor near various Indian hands when suddenly _I_ felt the smoothness of the stone. An Indian said to me, "_Dios es con usted_" ("God is with you"). Well, it was not fated to be lost that time. I have just left it at _La Perla_ to be well reclamped into the setting, thankful that that companion of my wanderings is still with me. The sweet, full letter from Rankweil is received. I long to smell the sunset meadows with you. _June 23d, evening._ After a day of skimming over the valley with Aunt L., the Seegers, Mr. Butler, and Mr. de Soto.