We raced through and up to our rooms, and can you believe it, Mamma, each bedroom had a splendid bath room, and all as modern as possible; there was not a sign of roughing it.  The Senator said we were not really to dress as in the East—­only “sort of Sunday.”  He was greeted by everyone with adoring respect that yet had a casual ease in it, and when we were all bathed and combed and tidy we found he had a dinner party awaiting us—­two women and about six men.  The women were so nice and simple, but we naturally had not much chance to speak to them—­the men were next us, superintendents of mines, and owners, and selected ones who have “made good.”  They were such characters, and seemed to bring a breezy delightful atmosphere with them.  The Eastern America seemed as far away as England; much farther really, because all these people have exactly the casual, perfectly sans gene manners of at home:  not the “I’m as good as you, only one better,” but the sort that does not have to demonstrate because the thought has never entered its head.  You know Octavia’s and Tom’s and Harry’s manner, Mamma;—­well, just the same; I can’t describe it any other way.  It is the real thing when you are not trying to impress anyone, just being you, and what you are.  I can only say even if their words are astonishing slang and their grammar absent, they are the most perfect gentlemen, with the repose and unconsciousness of the original Clara Vere de Vere.  They had all the extraordinary thoughtful kindness and chivalry which marks every American towards women, but they weren’t a bit auntish or grandmammaish.  The sex is the same as in England, and as far as that quality I told you about, Mamma, you remember, they all seemed to have it; and going to Australia alone with them would have been a temptation, though I am sure they have none of them that wicked way of improving every possible occasion like Frenchmen and Englishmen; I mean, you know, some Englishmen, as I am sure, for instance, Harry is doing at the present moment over that horrible Mrs. Smith.

We had such fun at dinner.  The one on my right was a lovely creature, about six foot six tall, with deep-set eyes and a scar up from one eyebrow into his thick hair, got, the Senator told us afterwards, in one of the usual shooting frays.

“We’ve been so mighty quiet, Nelson,” this man said leaning across the table to Mr. Renour, “since you went East.  A garden for babes.  Not a single gun handled in six months.  Don’t rightly know what’s took us.”  The girls at once said they would love to see some shooting and a twinkle came in one or two eyes, so I am sure they will try to get some up for us before we leave.

The restaurant was wonderful—­this rough place miles in a desert and yet decent food!  And think of the horrible, tasteless, pretentious mess cooking we have to put with in hotels in England anywhere except London.  Whatever mood one might be in coming to America, even if it were fault finding and hostile, one would be convinced of their extraordinary go ahead ability, and be filled with respect for their energy.  As for us who have grown to just love them we can’t say half what we feel.