I may just as well tell you first as last, Polly, that I am sure both Mr. Rogers and Mr. Nugent have made up their minds to marry me. Agatha is blind and Bertie amused, for he cannot imagine me falling in love with anything un-English and new. You see, I _look_ so--well, traditional, few know or suspect that I am impetuous and full of curiosity and love of novelty _inside_. Of course, as I said, I am in a way as traditional as I look, but in another I’m not. I don’t know if I have expressed myself clearly. I am sure that Mr. Rogers and all of them think that he has the better chance, because he is so cold and calm and correct. He really is charming in his way and I think I might have had rather a jolly little flirtation with him if Mr. Nugent had not happened to be a guest of the Club. But _he_ talks to me about things that interest me so much more, and he has made me talk to him about myself as I never talked before--even to you. If I could remember all of the nonsense we have talked I’d write it to you, but you know I never did have any memory. The other day a year-old doe mysteriously appeared in our ice-house with my name printed on a card lying on its chest. I _know_ that either Mr. R. or Mr. N. shot it for me, but I do not dare thank one or the other or even hint the subject: the game laws are so severe that it would be like a breach of confidence. But it has made all other meat insipid and we enjoyed it quite enough to compensate the offender for the risk he ran. It was one evening when both were calling that I regretted being obliged to wait till September for the game I like best. Mr. N’s first name is Luke. 22nd July Well, I will tell you of one conversation at least between Mr. Nugent and myself. A very celebrated--you may be sure he is in the superlative class--lung specialist came up the other day to visit the Chenoweths. Although Bertie is apparently so much better, the moment this doctor appeared I felt that I must have a verdict. At first I thought of appealing to Mr. Rogers, but finally concluded that as I had talked so much to Mr. Nugent it would be positively unkind to pass him over; besides it is so much easier to speak to him about _anything_. The _one_ thing that keeps me from feeling the _perfect_ freedom of friendship when I am alone with him is the fear that he suddenly will lose his head and take me in his arms and kiss me. He looks passion incarnate and I know that if he ever did let go he would be like one of these alarming electrical storms that visit us every two or three days. However, I have managed him rather well, so far.