Dearest: To-day I came upon a strange spectacle: poor old Nan-nan weeping
for wounded pride in me. I found her stitching at raiment of needlework
that is to be mine (piles of it have been through her fingers since the
word first went out; for her love asserts that I am to go all home-made
from my old home to my new one--wherever that may be!). And she was
weeping because, as I slowly got to understand, from one particular
quarter too little attention had been paid to me:--the kow-tow of a
ceremonious reception into my new status had not been deep enough to
make amends to her heart for its partial loss of me.
Her deferential recognition of the change which is coming is pathetic
and full of etiquette; it is at once so jealous and so unselfish.
Because her sense of the proprieties will not allow her to do so much
longer, she comes up to my room and makes opportunity to scold me over
quite slight things:--and there I am, meeker under her than I would be
to any relative. So to-day I had to bear a statement of your mother's
infirmities rigorously outlined in a way I could only pretend to be deaf
to until she had done. Then I said, "Nan-nan, go and say your prayers!"
And as she stuck her heels down and refused to go, there I left the poor
thing, not to prayer, I fear, but to desolate weeping, in which love and
pride will get more firmly entangled together than ever.
I know when I go up to my room next I shall find fresh flowers put upon
my table: but the grievous old dear will be carrying a sore heart that I
cannot comfort by any words. I cannot convince her that I am not hiding
in myself any wounds such as she feels on my behalf.
I write this, dearest, as an indirect answer to yours,--which is but
Nan-nan's woe writ large. If I could persuade your two dear and very
different heads how very slightly wounded I am by a thing which a little
waiting will bring right, I could give it even less thought than I do.
Are you keeping the truce in spirit when you disturb yourself like this?
Trust me, Beloved, always to be candid: I will complain to you when I
feel in need of comfort. Be comforted yourself, meanwhile, and don't
shape ghosts of grief which never do a goose-step over me! Ah well,
well, if there is a way to love you better than I do now, only show it
me! Meantime, think of me as your most contented and happy-go-loving.