Well: I was married to my darling Roger last Wednesday, and if it wasn’t every now and then that I think about poor John I should be the happiest woman alive. Mother, I’ve _always_ loved him since that first morning we met on the steamer and he pointed out the Isle of Wight, and then took such care of me all through the voyage. And he says he fell in love with me the same time. Isn’t that _wonderful_ when you think of all the great ladies he has seen, many of them I’m sure in love with him. When I asked him why, he just kissed me and said it was my violet eyes and my look of utter helplessness. But I feel it is _too sacred_ to talk or write about. I was always a true wife to poor John. People may think and say what they like. There is a horrid old cat here on the Mainland, who also travelled out with me. I’m sure she says and writes horrid things about me. It’s only jealousy. But even now, Mother, I haven’t told you almost the most wonderful thing of all! I did just say in my last letter how I’d gone to stay with the wife of the Consul-General. It happened this way. When we first landed here from one of those dreadful Arab sailing-boats that are full of what you _will_ call B flats but what I think—and so does Roger—it is much more sensible to call "bugs" straight out—when we landed Roger said, "You’d better go to Mr. Callaway and stay there first till I can find out what it’s best to do for you." So there I went, and I was just _miserable_. I didn’t like to tell you how much at the time for fear of its upsetting you. I really felt almost like committing suicide, only I should never do anything so wicked. But there I lay, inside my mosquito curtain in a room like a Turkish bath, crying, _crying_ to myself about poor John and thinking I should never see Roger again, and what Mrs. Baines would say when I came back all alone; when in walked Lady Dewburn, the wife of the Consul-General—"my boss"—as Roger calls him. She would have it that I was to go away with her then and there. Mother, I’d hardly any clothes after that dreadful journey; that was one reason I felt ashamed to go out. Well, she put me in a lovely cool bedroom at the top of her house.—It has a flat roof and I used so to enjoy walking out of my room and looking at the sea and the natives down below and the ships and palms. She had my meals sent up to me and often came up herself to inquire, and for a week she got Indian tailors to cut out and sew clothes for me to wear. When they were ready I had got quite well again, and then she brought me down and introduced me to her husband, who is the great man of this place. _He_ used rather to make fun of me, tease me you know, but he was kind under it all. Mother, if I’d been _their own daughter_ they couldn’t have treated me kinder. She wouldn’t let me thank her, said I was a distressed British subject and it was her duty. And after I’d been staying with them about six weeks and was