March 5. Dearest Mother. I don't know anything about Aunt Bessie's latch key. Hasn't she had it since I was with her in December? I could have sworn I left it on the dining room clock. Anyhow I didn't carry it off with me. I sent you some flowers which I hope arrived. Horace has been playing golf all day with Mr Gervais. I walked out with them this afternoon. It was a regular March day with a bitter wind and the whole world a hard bright glittering colour. The pools of water on the links were as blue as the cracks in a glacier and the wind shivered them into steely lines. They reminded me of a simile in an Arab war song - "the folds of their coats of mail were like the surface of a pool which is struck by the passing wind." I wonder whether this wind is blowing on the Atlantic!
Horace leaves tomorrow morning early. Ever you affectionate daughter Gertrude