We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at little tables with pink lamps and negro waiters. I never heard of meals being served in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.
“Where on earth were you brought up?” said Julia to me.
“In a village,” said I, meekly to Julia.
“But did n’t you ever travel?” said she to me.
“Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and sixty miles and we did n’t eat,” said I to her.
She ’s getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny things. I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I ’m surprised—and I ’m surprised most of the time. It ’s a dizzying experience, Daddy, to pass eighteen years in the John Grier Home, and then suddenly to be plunged into the WORLD.
But I ’m getting acclimated. I don’t make such awful mistakes as I did; and I don’t feel uncomfortable any more with the other girls. I used to squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they saw right through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams underneath. But I ’m not letting the ginghams bother me any more. Sufficient unto yesterday is the evil thereof.
I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Jervie gave us each a big bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Was n’t that sweet of him? I never used to care much for men—judging by Trustees—but I ’m changing my mind.
Eleven pages—this is a letter! Have courage. I ’m going to stop.
Yours always,