“Diana Street, July 26th.
“MY DARLING LYDIA--The longer I live in this wicked world the more
plainly I see that women’s own tempers are the worst enemies women have
to contend with. What a truly regretful style of correspondence we have
fallen into! What a sad want of self-restraint, my dear, on your side
and on mine!
“Let me, as the oldest in years, be the first to make the needful
excuses, the first to blush for my own want of self-control. Your cruel
neglect, Lydia, stung me into writing as I did. I am so sensitive to
ill treatment, when it is inflicted on me by a person whom I love and
admire; and, though turned sixty, I am still (unfortunately for myself)
so young at heart. Accept my apologies for having made use of my
pen, when I ought to have been content to take refuge in my
pocket-handkerchief. Forgive your attached Maria for being still young
at heart!
“But oh, my dear--though I own I threatened you--how hard of you to take
me at my word! How cruel of you, if your debt had been ten times what
it is, to suppose me capable (whatever I might say) of the odious
inhumanity of arresting my bosom friend! Heavens! have I deserved to
be taken at my word in this unmercifully exact way, after the years of
tender intimacy that have united us? But I don’t complain; I only mourn
over the frailty of our common human nature. Let us expect as little of
each other as possible, my dear; we are both women, and we can’t help
it. I declare, when I reflect on the origin of our unfortunate sex--when
I remember that we were all originally made of no better material than
the rib of a man (and that rib of so little importance to its possessor
that he never appears to have missed it afterward), I am quite
astonished at our virtues, and not in the least surprised at our faults.
“I am wandering a little; I am losing myself in serious thought, like
that sweet character in Shakespeare who was ‘fancy free.’ One last word,
dearest, to say that my longing for an answer to this proceeds entirely
from my wish to hear from you again in your old friendly tone, and
is quite unconnected with any curiosity to know what you are doing at
Thorpe Ambrose--except such curiosity as you yourself might approve.
Need I add that I beg you as a favor to _me_ to renew, on the customary
terms? I refer to the little bill due on Tuesday next, and I venture to
suggest that day six weeks.
“Yours, with a truly motherly feeling,
“MARIA OLDERSHAW.”