_London,
September._
Darling! There is no dictation about that this time, A. D., for
Checkers is out buying boots, neckties, and I know not what, for he
lunches with a fair charmer today, and is getting ready to do what he
calls “The Great Mash Act.” He is a dear old thing, all the same.
Such a lovely bunch of red roses and your darling little broom came
this morning,--yes, I am fond of you, and why shouldn’t I say so? I am
getting a little restless for you, I haven’t seen you for so long.
It is a pity to leave London even for a few days’ hunting in
Leicestershire, for this little apartment is so nice and Mr. Easthope
so kind--all on your account. I bought a lovely frame for your picture
and you don’t know how gordgeous you look, standing on my dressing
table where I can see you most all the time, think of you the rest,
and dream of you when I am asleep. Now, isn’t that sweet? I can’t help
laughing as I write, for you see I am not in the habit of saying such
things. I wonder if many girls have written you that--Mona Lisa, for
instance? I should think they all would! P. S. I am so ashamed--if you
were here, you would see me blush. Now you will laugh, but I spelt
gorgeous wrong. I asked Checkers who has just returned and I haven’t
time to re-write the letter. Aunt is out, brother is packing, and it
looks as if we were to move on again.
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