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!--a magician. Could anything be
finer than that?
An ordinary mystery is not, of course, so 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. Seriously, dear, I quite tremble when he looks me full in the eyes
with those unfathomable orbs of his, which I have already vainly
attempted to describe to you. How dreadful if he has the power to make
one fall in love! Do you know if the Blavatsky crowd have that power--
outside of Sepoy?