I am so glad Tom finds he can wear the stockings all right. Yes, I am a
wee bit proud of the pattern. And there’s one thing about it—it’s quite
original. He couldn’t have bought anything like it in a shop, and that’s
something in these machine-made days! Mr. Perry was tremendously
impressed with the finished result, and he said that if I cared to do
that sort of thing as a little business proposition, he thought he could
get me quite a number of commissions among his parishioners. I was
rather relieved, because he introduced the subject so delicately, I was
afraid he was going to ask me to make him a present of a pair!—which
would have seemed rather pointed, especially as he is unmarried! Anyway,
I said I should like very much to do it, only, of course, I couldn’t
undertake to do any big orders against time. I haven’t the leisure, for
one thing—and besides, inventing patterns is artistic work and can’t be
done to order. Mr. Perry _quite_ understood, and asked how much I should
charge, so I said ten shillings a pair. I think that is fair, don’t you?
They take ten ounces of double-knitting, not counting the small amount
of coloured wool for the tops, and then there is my work to be
considered, and the invention. You would have to pay _at least_ fifteen
shillings for anything of the same quality in a shop. I dare say with
practice I shall be able to get both legs the same.
Yes! I have at last made the acquaintance of the poet. I slept very
badly on Friday night, and I thought I’d like an early cup of tea, but
all the milk had been used for a rice-pudding, so at seven o’clock I
slipped out in my kimono to take in the morning delivery, and there, if
you please, was the young man coming downstairs with nothing on but a
vest and shorts! I couldn’t escape, so I carried it through as
unconcernedly as I could—and really, in my pyjamas and kimono I was far
less indecent than he was. I just said, “Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr.
Munting” (that’s his name—what a name for a poet!), “I was just taking
in the milk.” So he picked it up and offered it to me with a tremendous
bow. I had to say _something_ to the man, so I said: “Where are you off
to?” and he said he was going to run round the Square to keep his figure
down. I’m sure it doesn’t want keeping down, for it is all joints and
hollows, and I think he only said it to attract my attention to his
charming person, for his eyes were looking me up and down all the time
in the most unpleasant way.
He is very sallow and what Mother would have called bilious-looking,
with black eyes and wrinkles at the corners, and a sarcastic mouth, and
he smiled all the time he was speaking, in a way that makes a woman feel
most uncomfortable. He looks a great deal older than his friend—I
should put him at well over thirty, but perhaps it is only due to
leading a fast life. I didn’t say much to him, but got in as quickly as
I could. I didn’t want everybody to see him exposing himself there with
me on the doorstep. I saw him afterwards from my bedroom window, rushing
round the Square like a madman.
Mr. Harrison has been more amiable lately. He has bought a wonderful new
box of paints, on the strength of knowing a real artist, I suppose, and
spends his time working up some of his holiday sketches. He is very
excited about a new scheme for fitting up his studio, as he calls it,
with some new kind of electric bulbs, which give a light like daylight,
so that he can work in the evenings. So we shall get less of his company
than ever. Not that it makes any difference to me, personally, only it
seems such a very unsatisfactory idea of married life, to be out all day
and shut himself up every evening. I have written a little sketch,
called “These Men——.” Dr. Trevor thinks it is very promising, and says
I ought to try it on some of the evening papers, so I have sent it to
the _Standard_.
I’m so sorry about Joan’s bad throat. Do you think she wraps up enough?
I will make her one of my special scarves, if you will tell me what
coloured frocks she is wearing.
With best love,
Your affectionate sister,
AGGIE