_London,
September._
Here we are in your old lodgings on Half Moon Street, and very cosy we
find it. We arrived early this morning. The passage over from Holland
was very smooth and comfortable, and what do you suppose? ! ! ! Mr.
Easthope who keeps the lodgings handed me the dearest little bunch of
white pinks! I thought it very sweet of him, but when I found your
card tied to them, I thought it much sweeter. He appeared in a very
fine evening suit, ah! But he couldn’t look so fine as your Gilet. I
remember him at the pretty dinners in your rooms, as smooth and
dignified as a bishop. Those times seem so far away now--when shall I
see you again? In Paris? Yes, the Prince has written Aunt that he will
join us there. Whom could the duel have been about? Really _me_, do
you suppose?
Such a delicious little dinner we had tonight, it seemed like home,
with pretty flowers on the table, and we all drank your health. You
must have lived like a fighting cock here--how many years ago was it,
dear old A. D.?
Oh pooh! I don’t see how you can say the Prince of Naples’ engagement
is a true love affair. Why, he can’t marry anyone but a Princess, and
a Catholic one at that, can he? So it doesn’t leave him much choice.
After all, I don’t think it matters. My views have changed somewhat
after being so long in Europe. Why, there are a lot of happy marriages
over here that have been cooked up by the families!
Checkers wants to be remembered, but says his nose is out of joint
since I have taken up with you. Thank you for the flowers, telegrams,
messages--I love them all.
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