Sunday Night.
Aug. 9, 1925.

My dearest Walter:

Claudelle and I left before the League service was over tonight as it looked like it would rain and we were not crazy about the idea of coming over our road after it was wet. It was mostly false alarm as it only sprinkled a little. There seemed to be enough thunder and lightning to make the Noahs of Uvalde think seriously of building an ark, but perhaps past experience has taught them better. However, we haven’t quite overcome our Mississippi ideas of the weather.

August 9, 1925

You really did seem distressed in your Wednesday’s letter over the Dr. White situation. Sweetheart, I am awfully sorry you are having so much trouble with him, and I wish so much that I could do something to help you out. I know just about how you feel and I don’t blame you a bit. I surely do wish I could be there to try to help you forget it. I know that when you are so constantly and closely associated with someone who is so oldmaidish, particular and slow about things that are often of minor importance or things that you have already thoroughly investigated yourself it is no less than nerve-racking. But aren’t you glad you found it out before you got deeply into some kind of partnership work with him that it would be harder to get out of? Maybe he will not be with you much longer, and then, won’t you feel good! I think you will be better able to appreciate your own work and the pleasant dealings you have had with Dr. K.S. and others than you would have, had you not had this experience with Dr. White. Sometimes these experiences are rather bitter while they last, but we often profit by them. However, Sweetheart, I am sorry you have had to endure this one and I hope you will not have to do it again. I am glad you are writing me about it because I like to know what you are going through even when you have to write it, because, if I were with you, I would certainly want to know, and I like to feel as much like I am with you as possible. I want you to feel free to write me anything you would want to tell me if I were with you. I will be so glad when we can be together and each evening can discuss the difficulties as well as the pleasures of the day. That is the way a husband and wife are drawn closer together and into a more complete understanding of one another. I don’t see how I could love you more than I do now, but that is what I said at first and I know I love you more now than I did then. Isn’t it wonderful how one’s capacity for loving can be increased so much?

You spoke of my photos. I still wear yours on my dressing table and I get lots of pleasure out of looking at it. You would really be surprised to know how often the expression of your face changes. When I don’t get a letter from you and I can’t help but be disappointed, I look at you and you look solemn and almost call me “Mama,” but when I do get a nice letter from you, I look at you and you almost laugh. I don’t know what I’d do without the picture. I love it. (and you).

Always, your,
Ina.