MY DEAR GLADYS,--I think your ARTHUR the ideal person to be engaged to.
He's serious, you say--he dislikes flippancy--he's inclined to be
literal.
Well, surely that's better than being a clown, a buffoon, a mere jester,
a Court Fool! How tired you'd get of the cap and bells! of having to
laugh, all through life, at your husband's jokes! ARTHUR is sensible;
calm in his affection. Is that a reproach? Should you like a
"Once-on-board-the-lugger-and-the-girl-is-mine" sort of villain as a
lover? Or a "ladies' man"--a warbler of love-songs--a universal provider
of compliments, flowers, pretty speeches,--a very WHITELY of gallantry?
You'd be bored to death: and dreadfully jealous as well.
As to your tastes not being identical, that doesn't really matter. Make
a few sacrifices of those things you don't care about; bicycling, for
instance, and skirt-dancing, and then, in return for such self-denial,
he'll probably waive his objections to afternoons, private views, or
even--in moderation--clever young men.
On some subjects, I know, sympathy seems impossible; for instance,
ARTHUR likes music, but detests concerts: while you, on the other hand,
while not caring for music are particularly fond of concerts. A little
mutual indulgence on both sides will soon put matters straight.
After a slight dispute never hold out an _instant_ after he shows
repentance. Also, _never avoid showing jealousy when you see he expects
it_. This is a valuable "tip." False pride on this subject is a fruitful
source of discord.
Do not disagree with his general principles. On the contrary, second
them; and give him convincing reasons for his own opinions. When it
comes to a particular application of them, that you really object to you
are sure to know how to act. Believe everything he says, and never
correct him about details, especially not if you know you are right. I
don't think I need advise you not to bring out authorities to show he is
wrong in the etymology of a word or any other subject of discussion, for
_that_ is absolutely suicidal, and you would be beyond the pale of
reason if you dreamt of such a thing.
Since your cousin FREDDY has been staying with you, I can understand you
find it rather awkward. I know FREDDY; with his love of practical jokes
(for which you, too, I am certain, have a secret _penchant_), and his
determined chatter about his rowing, his riding, and why he didn't back
the winner, and how it is he missed the Diamond Sculls, and so on, _ad
lib._ I can quite fancy he doesn't get on with ARTHUR, whom he must
despise for not having put a hair-brush in his bed the very first
evening.
You must have had a difficult day that Sunday that young DE VERNEY and
his sister came down. DE VERNEY, rosy-cheeked and babyish-looking, but
about whom a morbid interest centres, because he collects jewels, and
was said at one time to take morphia; and Miss DE VERNEY, who "writes,"
and is utterly amazed and contemptuous when she finds someone who has
never heard of her. If it were not for your mother, who forgets people's
characteristics, and explains them to each other a little wrong--which
often saves the situation--the day would have ended in utter want of
harmony. DE VERNEY left, pitying you, and his sister feeling sorry for
ARTHUR. I am glad you removed--though only just in time--an absurd
booby-trap FREDDY had placed in ARTHUR'S room, because ARTHUR had said
he "romped"; and when you and your future husband were alone, he said he
hoped your companions in the future would be of a very different calibre
to your present friends.
The depressing word "calibre," while cheering ARTHUR left you in lowest
spirits, but of course you agreed, and then had a toboganning match with
FREDDY the next morning before breakfast, and before ARTHUR had left his
room. Write and tell me how you are going on. Is any time fixed for the
termination of the engagement? I mean, of course, by marriage.
Your affectionate friend, MARJORIE.
* * * * *
MAXIMUS ORELLIUS.--The author of _John Bull and His Island_ has honoured
a _South Wales Daily News_ interviewer with many interesting personal
details. Mons. BLOUËT has a rooted aversion to chairmen, because "they
give a sort of formal tone to proceedings which I don't care for." Poor
chairmen! After all, this is only what they are intended for. Perhaps
another MAX--yclept NORDAN--can give some explanation for this
distinctly morbid dislike. One unlucky chairman is overwhelmed with
ridicule because, in an introductory speech, _he actually forgot the
French humorist's name_. "MAX O'RELL" contemplates changing his
profession to that of playwright, and has already written a play which
he airily describes as "a high-class comedy, dealing with the British
aristocracy." However, this is not his first dramatic venture, for, says
he, "in 1870 I had a comedy produced in Paris, but the war breaking out
my play came to what I think was an untimely end. I have been repeatedly
urged to write for the stage, but have hitherto been content with the
success I have attained in other directions." _Vivat modestia!_
* * * * *
[Illustration: "GOLDEN GRAIN."
_Sir M-ch-l H-cks-B-ch, Chancellor of the Exchequer_ (_Reaper_).
"FIRST-RATE HARVEST, EH?"
_Sir W-ll-m H-rc-rt._ "YES; AND HOW YOU PITCHED INTO _ME_ WHEN _I_ SOWED
IT!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE NEW PATENT SPRING-HEELED "BIKE" FOR THE HUNTING
FIELD.]
* * * * *