Ever so many thanks for sending the order from Mrs. Pottersby; I will
get on with it as quickly as I can. I have two more scarves in hand, and
Mr. Perry wants two dozen calendars for people in the parish, so you see
I am quite busy just at present. I am glad Tom’s rheumatism is no worse,
and that Joan’s little illness turned out to be such a trifling matter
after all. It must have given you a lot of anxiety.
I am feeling very much better, I am glad to say—in fact, we are all
brighter and happier for our period of peace and quietness. The Bear
came back in quite a good mood, for him!—and dear Mrs. Harrison seems
quite a different person. She reads a lot, and I am encouraging her to
live in her books, and abstract herself altogether from the wearing and
irritating realities of life. It is easy, because she has a wonderfully
vivid and romantic imagination, which makes the world of literature very
real to her. Of course, that is what Mr. Harrison would never be able to
understand. It is hopeless to try to discuss anything with him. I tried
to get him to talk about Gilbert Frankau’s new book the other day. He
said he hadn’t read it and didn’t want to. I gave him an outline of the
plot, but I don’t think he was listening. At any rate, he only said,
“Oh!” and went on to talk interminably about his eternal fungi and
hedgehogs. Still, provided he keeps his temper, it doesn’t much matter
what he talks about, and Mrs. Harrison listens to it all most patiently.
I wonder how she can do it, but she is in a wonderfully serene and happy
frame of mind. I am rather proud of my work, for I am sure it was our
little talk in my bedroom the other day that showed her the way out of
her troubles.
I am sorry for what you say about Ronnie. It is most trying for you that
he should have got mixed up with that sort of girl, but no doubt it will
all blow over. Dr. Trevor says that that kind of adolescent love-affair
should always be dealt with sympathetically, and will work itself out
naturally if not thwarted. I’m sure it would be _most unwise_ of Tom to
exert his authority in any way. I cannot forget how our poor dear Mother
_ruined_ my life—of course, with the best intentions—by her
old-fashioned ideas of what was “nice.” Nobody will ever know what I
suffered as a girl, and I am sure it is all due to that early
unhappiness that I am in the doctor’s hands now. It was not the same
thing for you, of course—you never had that complicated and
delicately-balanced temperament, and would probably always have been
happy enough, whether you had married or not. People of your kind are
much the most fortunate, but then one cannot help one’s temperament, can
one? If you take my advice, and treat Ronnie with sympathy and
indulgence, you will avoid making the mess of his life that our parents
made of mine. I feel that Ronnie and I are very much akin—perhaps a few
words from me would help to explain him to himself. I am writing to him
to-night.
Your loving sister,
AGGIE