Everything seemed changed to Venna, after his departure.
The cold indifference of her society friends seemed to turn into a constant stinging rebuke. Many of her Mormon associates were only visitors in the East for the winter. She had grown fond of them all, and as one by one left for the West, she longed to go, too. Walter wrote as he had promised, but his letter was so disappointing, it was almost impossible for her to be her own smiling self.
How she had longed for that first letter! How she had watched the mails! Surely when he had returned home and had been honorably released, he would write of his love for her! These were her expectations, her longings.
Was it all a mistake after all? Had she only imagined he loved her?
This was the first letter from the man she loved—a kind, friendly letter, which her trembling hands had opened to her own chagrin.
"Salt Lake City.
"Dear Sister Venna:
"I meant to write to you sooner, but have been rushed here and there on business and social calls at such a rate, I have scarcely had time to eat. My dear sister, you can't conceive how strange an experience it is to come home from a mission. Everyone makes a great deal more of you than you deserve and mothers—well, if every mother acted like my mother did (I expect they all do), the boys must all feel fine about their small sacrifices. Mother follows me from room to room, and whenever I'm at home she tries her best to make me realize I'm just the grandest son in Christendom, so do my sisters. The girls and mother vie with one another to excel in their goodness to me. If I were not well dosed with the scorn and abuse of the East, I'm afraid this wonderful home adoration would unbalance me, and deprive me of my humility.
"It seems mighty good to be in dear old Salt Lake again; but it is so strange, Venna, how all my former companions seem changed to me. Of course, I know it is I who have changed the most. I have grown away from them in many ways. I find myself criticising many little things in their lives that I never noticed before I left for the East. I find myself correcting them, and they laughingly tell me I have gotten the 'preaching habit' and must come down to earth a little.
"Yes, there's no doubt a missionary's life takes one beyond himself, as it were. I wish all the boys had the privilege of living in the mission field for two years. I believe every one of them would lose the desire for small follies.