Finally Obregon came in, very pleasantly and smilingly, but we couldn’t talk, only a few words such as concerned Dick’s age. I said he was five, because I didn’t know what six was in Spanish. I understood he was expecting an interpreter, but no interpreter came, although we wasted three quarters of an hour, during which time he was in and out of the room, restless and expectant. The children came in, Alvaro and Alvarada, aged two and four, and when the President left the room, Dick and the boy, who had eyed each other silently, began to turn summersaults. Alvaro did it first, and then the damask sofa cushions went on to the floor, and when the President returned the children were standing on their heads, and coming down onto the parquet floor with a thud of heels. He laughed heartily. I then went out onto the freezingly cold roof terrace to see if that interpreter was coming--instead, I beheld Pani, smiling as usual. I was glad to see him ... I told him our plight and how difficult it was ... Pani however had come on business, and he and the President were closeted for some time. When he came out, we all went down stairs to the front door, piled into a car, were driven a few paces through the pouring rain across the courtyard, to another door. Here he went down a spiral stair, it was very mysterious and quaint--it led to the living apartments of the Obregons. The rooms were smaller and it certainly was more habitable. Madame Obregon met us at the foot of the stairs. She is one of those simple pretty young Mexican women, grown fat prematurely (though in this case, as an infant is due in October, there is some excuse ...) a woman devoted to her husband and her children and her home. She told me she had three children already, two, three and four years old. She asked about mine, and I told her and we discussed Dick--food and internal ailments. She talks American-English very well. We sat in a small room. It had a table in the middle and chairs all around. In the middle of the table was a silver flute-shaped vase of flowers on a Mexican flag “doyley”.... On the floor, in between the chairs, were large spittoons, quite useful for cigarette ends. Dick dropped his cake into one and roared with laughter. The little two year old girl sat down in her little baby arm chair and was given milk out of a baby’s bottle. I asked Mrs. Obregon if she wanted a boy or a girl. She wanted a girl, but her husband she said wanted another boy. He did not like girls, they had such a hard time in the world he said. I thought of Mexican girls, and agreed--yet if the girl is born across the border of American citizenship, how different. How near and yet how far is emancipation for the Mexican girl.