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 has to be made, and Dorris says it will be hideous without the fringe; so our departure depends on my decision about that dress. These dressmakers are really too aggravating.

We had such a rough passage across the channel that I was very glad of my new ulster which I bought in London. Tom's mother sent you a mince-pie, for she remembered that you used to like them. I took it out of my trunk when we were in London, to make room for Karamsin's History of Russia, in six volumes, which Dorris bought, and packed in with my collars and cuffs, so you can imagine how they looked when we got here! The pie was done up in brown paper, and Tom thought that the parcel contained his slippers, and he put all his boots and shoes on top of it; it looks now as if some one had been sitting on it, but I shall keep it for you.

Dorris does nothing but read, and she says she does not believe that old Mr. Lane was in love with Aunt Emma. Tom is so much handsomer than he used to be, I can hardly wait for you to see him.

Dorris looks as young as I do. She does n't seem to care about getting married since that sad engagement of hers, though that was eight years ago. I never could understand how she could fall in love with a man who was dying of consumption. Tom never has had an ill day since I married him except last summer when he was poisoned,—and how cross he was!

Dorris behaves just like a widow. Some widows don't act much like it, though. That Mrs. Miller used to flirt awfully with Tom before he was engaged to me,