“We went up to town yesterday by the ten o'clock train West Brighton;
and so that we might have more money to spend, we went third class.
Father doesn't like us going third class, but I don't think it matters
if you get in with nice people. We were very jolly. The Shaws went with
us. They are very nice girls. They had to leave us at Victoria, and
I and my cousin, Agnes Keating, went shopping together. We met the
Harrisons at Russell & Allen's. We saw there some lovely dresses--I wish
you had been with us, for I have confidence in your taste, and when I
choose a thing myself I am never sure that I like it. The assistant was
so polite; she told me to ask for Miss ----; she said she would like
to fit me. Sally was coming up with us, but she changed her mind and
remained at home, I was very glad, for she is wretchedly cross, and
not looking at all well. You would not admire her in the least; she is
growing very yellow. But I don't mean to be ill-natured, so we'll let
Sally bide, as we say in Sussex. After Russell & Allen's we went to
Blanchard's, and had a nice lunch. Grace was in town; she chaperoned us,
and paid for everything; it was very kind of her. Then we went to the
theatre, and saw a play which we did not care about much. There was
a very stupid 'tart' in it. I do like 'gadding,' don't I? But, oh, my
darling Frank, gadding is not really gadding without you. How I miss
you, how we all miss you, but I especially. The Keatings came over
to tea to-day, and they asked about you. Blanche wants you to write
something in her album, and she admired immensely the drawing you gave
me. She is very artistic in her tastes; I think you would like her.
“But I have a bit of news that I think will amuse you. You remember Mrs.
Horlock's old dog--not the blind Angel; he's old too. But I mean
the real old dog,--the one twenty years old, that once belonged to a
butcher. He never smelt very sweet, as you know, but latterly he was
unbearable, and the General resolved on a silent and secret destruction.
He purchased in Brighton a bottle of chloroform. It was the dead of
the night and pitch dark. However, he reached the end of the passage
in safety; but suddenly he uttered a fearful shriek and dropped the
chloroform. He thought he had seen a ghost; but it was only Mrs.
Horlock, who was going her rounds, letting down the mouse-traps and
supplying the little creatures with food. The General blurted out
various excuses. He said that he had come to relieve the cock parrot's
tooth-ache--that he feared the Circassian goat was suffering from spinal
complaint and the squirrels from neuralgia. But his protestations proved
unavailing, and now he eats his meals in silence. And to make matters
worse, the old dog did die a few days after--the General says from old
age, but Mrs. Horlock avows that his death resulted from fright. 'He
was a sweet, cunning old thing, and no doubt knew all about that plan to
destroy him.' I think this would make an excellent subject for a comic
sketch; I wish you would do one--the General dropping the bottle; Mrs.
Horlock, surrounded by closed mouse-traps and crumbs, sternly upbraiding
him.
“I see lots of Emily Pierce. Every Sunday I have tea with her, and
sometimes lunch; but she doesn't come here. I am afraid I couldn't get
on at all without her; we do everything together, and we hit it off so
well.
“Sally has been staying in Kent. I do not know what's up, but she seems
to see everything _couleur de rose_; everything in Kent is better in
her estimation than anywhere else. The men dance so much better for one
thing. I am glad she is so happy, and I wish she would get married and
stay there. Father says he has a cough that tears him to pieces, but I
haven't heard it yet.”
The elementary notion of a woman in love is to surround, to envelop the
man she loves, with her individuality, and to draw him from all
other influences. And the woman in love strives to accomplish this by
ceaseless reiteration of herself or himself seen through herself. So
Maggie with her nervous, highly-strung, febrile temperament could not
refrain from constantly striking the lyre of love. Her hands were for
ever on the chords. Letters and notes of all kinds; impetuous
messages asking him when he would return; letters apologising for her
selfishness--he had better remain with Mount Rorke until his consent
had been obtained; resolutions and irresolutions, ardours, lassitudes,
forgetfulness followed fast in strange and incomprehensible
contradiction. And Frank was asked daily to perform some small task.
There was always something; and Frank undertook all he was asked to do,
for he loved to be as much as possible in that circle of life in which
his sweetheart lived, and to feel her presence about him.