July 3d.
I fear my remarks about Dr. Barritz must have been, being
thoughtless, very silly, or you would not have written of him with
such levity, not to say disrespect. Believe me, dearest, he has
more dignity and seriousness (of the kind, I mean, which is not
inconsistent with a manner sometimes playful and always charming)
than any of the men that you and I ever met. And young Raynor--you
knew Raynor at Monterey--tells me that the men all like him, and
that he is treated with something like deference everywhere. There
is a mystery, too--something about his connection with the
Blavatsky people in Northern India. Raynor either would not or
could not tell me the particulars. I infer that Dr. Barritz is
thought--don't you dare to laugh at me--a magician! Could anything
be finer than that? An ordinary mystery is not, of course, as good
as a scandal, but when it relates to dark and dreadful practices--
to the exercise of unearthly powers--could anything be more
piquant? It explains, too, the singular influence the man has upon
me. It is the undefinable in his art--black art.
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