He took me to his hotel. He had an apartment that costs him fifteen pounds a day--ain’t that cruel? But he said he didn’t propose that these savages should sneer at his poverty--they’re doing it, anyhow, and they hint that the Dowies are paying his hotel bill, or will have to pay it. However, I think he did well to spread himself. There’s something about this country that makes you ashamed to seem poor. You spend money and pretend you’ve got plenty of it. They call it “throwing a bluff,” or “making a front.” George had taken an apartment for me at a tall price, but I wouldn’t have it, as I wouldn’t saddle him with the expense--he hadn’t her money in hand then. Besides, I knew that as soon as he was gone I’d have to come down, and that would have looked bad. After I was installed in a very comfortable little apartment thirteen floors up--think of that!--at three pounds a day, we drove to Dowie’s. A crowd saw us off at the hotel, people pointed and stared at us all the way up the street, and there was a crowd waiting for us at Dowie’s. They live in a huge greystone castle,--there is no end of smart houses here, but a queer jumble--samples of everything. I hadn’t known old Dowie an hour before he told me the house and ground and all cost him six hundred thousand, our money. The girl--but you’ll judge her for yourself. I rather fancied her. Affected, of course, and trying to act a duchess out of one of Ouida’s novels. Rather fat, too, and her hair is thin, and a _mussy_ shade of yellow. I think she’ll waddle in about five years. Still, she’s sensible and quick, and dresses well. All the women here do that. But the money! It’s heart-rending to see it parade by. And they seem to be throwing it away, but they don’t. Everything is horribly dear here. I must look sharp or I sha’n’t last long. The newspapers will give you all you want to know about the wedding--it was quite a show--perhaps vulgar and overdone, but really gorgeous. I like America, and I like the people. They’re jolly good-natured, and the nice ones here are much the same as nice people anywhere else. The Longviews have taken a big furnished house, and I’m staying with them. Next week a friend of Miss Longview--a Miss Hollister, who lives here, but her people are still in the country--is coming to visit her. Her (Miss Hollister’s) father owns a lot of railways and mines, and is no end of a financial swell. I’m too sleepy to write another word, except ARTHUR. How is Gwen? Be good to me, Evelyn--with love-- A. [Illustration: _He liked the very first glimpse of her_] IV