Since that visit to the Cabinet, I have been torn with conflicting feelings. I am still furious about the treatment of Gifford Pinchot and all he stands for, but this is the crew that must sail the ship this voyage, this is the captain with his hand on the tiller. We ought all to stand by, oughtn’t we? And yet, and yet, we cannot forget! The situation is very strange! There was an article in the _Washington Post_ last week, called “The Back-to-Elba Club.” It is aimed at the Rooseveltians. They are a strongly entrenched body, Henry Adams one of the strongest. There is a sort of romance, a “Charlie-over-the-Water” sentiment, which is lovely, romantic, and touching--but is it quite fair? Harry White has ranged under the new banner, though he was unjustifiably chucked out of office by the Administration. He is now in high favor, and going down to South America as the head of the delegation to the Conference at Argentina. I am full of wonder about this Cabinet. The present is surely in a very difficult political situation. I suppose to those who have more knowledge, this is true at all times. In the winter of 1912 I was again in Washington, on a visit to our old friend, John Loudon, and our new friend, Lydia Loudon, his charming American wife. Loudon was now Minister from the Low Countries to the United States, and the Dutch Legation was counted one of the most attractive houses in the capital. The Loudons had been stationed in Japan, where Lydia had taken a course in the art of arranging flowers. Early on the first day of my visit we drove to the market, where I watched her choose with care branches of yellow forsythia, bunches of daffodils, jonquils, primroses, sprays of feathery mimosa. By lunch time it seemed that spring had come to the legation, though winter still reigned outside. Madame Loudon, like every true artist, is possessed with the passion for perfection that compels her to do whatever she does with all her heart. As I watched her patient, tireless hands, weaving the spell that held her guests of the afternoon enthralled, I had a realizing sense of my own artist’s motto: “If a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well!” The Loudons’ musicale brought together the music lovers of Washington, who listened in complete silence to a perfect program. Madame Loudon’s singing is a pure joy. As I heard the rich notes of her contralto voice blend with the dearly familiar tones of my old friend, the harmony seemed happily to express the union of these two uncommon persons. The Loudons are what all hostesses recognize as the rarest of created beings, a perfectly delightful couple. We all know plenty of charming women, and dozens of interesting men, to invite to our dinners; but a pair like the Loudons is a rarity not often met in any sphere, least of all in formal society where such twin souls are scarce as roc’s eggs.