§ 1
May 29, 1919.
Conster Manor,
Leasan,
Sussex.
_My dear Stella_,
I hope you won’t think it awful cheek of me to write to you, but I’ve
been thinking of doing so for a long time—ever since you left, in fact.
I felt so very sorry that just after I’d begun to know you again you
should go away. You see I’m rather odd-man-out in the family, for though
Jenny and I have always been pals, she’s frightfully preoccupied with
things just now, and I get back so late and start off again so early
next morning that I see very little of people at home. The same fact
makes it difficult for me to keep up with the people I knew at school—I
can’t have them at Conster, anyway. And at the works—oh, Gee! I can’t
think where they come from. Either they’re of quite a bit different
class, which I can get on with, though I don’t think I could ever make a
friend of it, or else they’re a type of man I’ve never struck before,
the kind that’s always talking of horses and girls, and the way he talks
it’s rather difficult to tell ’tother from which. So may I—now it’s
coming out!—may I write to you now and then? It would make such a
difference to me, and you needn’t answer—at least, not so often as I
write. I’d never dare ask you this to your face, but I can write things
I can’t say. So please let me—it would be such a relief, and I’d be so
grateful. I don’t pretend for a minute that it’ll be entertaining for
you—I’ll simply be getting things off my chest. You see, I do such a
frightful lot of thinking on the way to and from Ashford and you’ve done
a lot of thinking too—I’m sure of it—so perhaps you’ll understand my
thoughts, though I can tell you some of ’em are precious silly. This
letter is a pretty fair specimen of what you’d have to expect, so if you
don’t like it, squash me at once, for I’d hate to be a nuisance to you.
I hope you’re still liking the clinic. Your father told us about it last
Sunday. I expect he’s given you all the Leasan and Vinehall news. He’ll
have told you about Dolly Hurst’s wedding, anyhow. It was a simply
terrible affair. I had to go, because they heartlessly chose a Saturday
afternoon, and I was nearly stifled with the show. The church reeked of
flowers and money and Israelites. In spite of my decided views on the
filthiness of lucre, I can’t help thinking it a waste that a rich
Gentile should marry a rich Jew when there are plenty of poor Gentiles
in the neighbourhood. However, the bridegroom looks a decent fellow, and
not so violently a son of Abraham. He had three sisters who were
bridesmaids, and all treats, as we say at the shop. Forgive these vulgar
musings on a solemn subject, but the occasion provokes them—and anyhow
write and tell me if I may write again.
Yours in hope and fear,
GERVASE ALARD.
June 3.
15, Mortimer Street,
Birmingham.
_My dear Gervase_,
Very many thanks for your letter. Of course go on writing—I shall love
hearing from you, though please don’t think I’m clever and “do a lot of
thinking”—because I don’t. And I’m glad you say you won’t be exacting in
the way of answers for I’m frightfully busy here. I have to be at the
clinic at nine every morning, and often don’t get away till after six. I
do all the dispensary work, weigh babies, etc.—it’s all most amusing,
and I love it, and would be ever so happy if I felt Father was getting
on all right without me. Now you might help me here and tell me what you
think of Miss Gregory. Father of course makes out that he’s perfectly
satisfied, but I feel that may be only because he doesn’t want me to
worry or think I ought to come back. So you tell me if you think she’s a
dud, though of course I don’t expect you’ll have much opportunity for
finding out.
Yes, Father told me about the Hurst wedding, and I had a letter too from
Mrs. George Alard. It seems to have been a regular Durbar. I’m rather
surprised they found it possible to get married in church, the
bridegroom not being a Christian. But perhaps he’s Jewish only by race.
I hope so, because Mrs. George said Peter seemed very much smitten with
his sister, who was chief bridesmaid. Of course this may be only her
imagination. I wonder if you noticed anything. I suppose Peter’s living
at Starvecrow now. I hope so much he’ll be able to do all he wanted for
the estate.
Excuse more, but I’m frightfully busy this week, as there are one or two
cases of smallpox in the city and a lot of vaccination being done.
Yours,
STELLA MOUNT.
§ 2
Nov. 16.
Hollingrove,
Vinehall,
Sussex.
_My dear Little Girl_,
When we were together in the summer you told me you had quite “got over”
Peter Alard, and I was so glad. All the same I want to send you the
enclosed newspaper cutting before you have a chance of hearing the news
from any other source—I feel it might still be a shock. I wish I had
been less of a dull fellow and had my suspicions beforehand—then I might
have prepared you—but I assure you I never thought of it. He met her for
the first time at her brother’s wedding to Miss Hurst in May—she was one
of the bridesmaids—and I’m told now that she stayed at Conster for a
fortnight while we were away in August. She was down again this last
week and I met her once or twice—she seems a very nice girl, quiet and
well-bred and decidedly above the average in brains, I should think.
Lady Alard told me she is writing a book. I was asked up to dinner last
night, and Sir John announced the engagement, and this morning it was in
the _Times_, so I’m writing off to you at once. My darling, you know how
sorry I am that things did not turn out as we had both so fondly hoped.
But I think that what has happened may be a comfort to you in many ways,
as you were so afraid he would marry Dolly Hurst to please his family
and we both agreed she could never make him happy. Miss Asher seems much
more likely to be the kind of wife he wants—she is not so cold and
intellectual, but seems warm-hearted and friendly, though as I’ve told
you she’s decidedly clever. Peter seemed extremely happy when I
congratulated him—it’s so nice to think that I can tell you this, and
that your love was always of a kind which wanted his happiness more than
its own. But I’m afraid this will be a blow to you, dear; in spite of
what you have told me, and I heard Mass this morning with a special
intention for you. I will write again in a day or two and tell you how
the Elphicks are getting on and the rest of the news, but I must stop
now as I hear Miss Gregory trying to crank up the car. It’s funny how
she never seems able to manage it when the engine’s cold, while a little
bit of a thing like you never failed to get it started. Goodbye, my
darling, and God bless you.
Your loving father,
HORACE J. MOUNT.
Cutting from the _Times_ of Nov. 16, 1919:
Mr. P. J. Alard and Miss V. L. I. Asher.
A marriage has been arranged and will shortly take place between Peter
John Alard, eldest son of Sir John and Lady Alard of Conster Manor,
Leasan, Sussex, and Vera Lorna Isabel, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lewis
Asher of 91, Orme Square, Bayswater.