And now I must tell you, even at the risk of being misunderstood--though I am sure you know me too well to fear I should seek to countenance or excuse wrong-doing--that I think Mary takes an exaggerated view of the past. She seems to think it can never be wiped out, never be palliated. Of course, in one sense, it never can: but I _don't_ see why she need continue to feel this intense humiliation, as if she ought to have a cordon drawn round her gown to warn all good folks from its contact. Look again at that persistent fancy of hers, always to wear black; it is writing about her gown puts me in mind of it. Black, black, black: thin silk when the heat will allow, oftener a dreary, rusty-black-looking kind of soft muslin that is called here "black jaconite"--but I really don't know whether that's the way to spell the thing. During the late intense heat, we have talked her into a black-and-white muslin: that is, white, with huge black spots upon it in the form of a melon. Only once did I speak to her about wearing white as we do; I have never ventured since. She turned away with a shiver, and said white was no longer for her. Mother, dear, if any one ever lived to work out on earth their repentance for sin, surely it is Mary. The more I see of her innate goodness, the less can I understand the past. With her upright principles and strict sense of conscientiousness--and you know that Mary always had these, even as a child--I am unable to imagine how it could have been that---- But I won't go into that. And it may be that the goodness, so remarkable, would not have come out conspicuously but for the trial. Mrs. Cale gave us such a nice account of "Baby Arthur." She says he is very fair and pretty. She has talked to other people about him--and of course we cannot tell her not to talk. A brother-officer of my husband's said to me yesterday: "I hear your little boy at home is charming, Mrs. Layne. When shall you have him out?" "Not yet," I answered. "He was a very delicate baby, and I should not like to risk it." "Ah," said Major Grant, "that is why you left him in England." "My mother takes great care of him," I went on; "it would break her heart if I were to bring him away from her."