Fortunately my husband was in a hurry to
get down to the City, and he neglected to read my correspondence. (The
unchivalrous blackguard,' John commented. 'But what can be expected of a
woman beater?') Never, never write to me again at the house. A letter,
care of Mrs. Best, 8A Foley Street, W.C., will always find me. She is my
maid's mother. And you must not come here either, my dear handsome
head-in-the-clouds, except to my 'At Homes', and then only at judicious
intervals. I shall be walking round the pond in Kensington Gardens at
four next Wednesday, unless Mrs. Best brings me a letter to the contrary.
And now thank you for your delicious poem; I do not recognize my humble
self in the dainty lines, but I shall always be proud to think I
inspired them. Will it be in the new volume? I have never been in print
before; it will be a novel sensation. I cannot pay you song for song,
only feeling for feeling. Oh, John Lefolle, why did we not meet when I
had still my girlish dreams? Now, I have grown to distrust all men--to
fear the brute beneath the cavalier....'
* * * * *
Mrs.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157