TWO LOVE LETTERS.
MR. KINGSTON _to_ MISS FETHERSTONHAUGH.
"My dearest love,
"I had no idea that Melbourne _could_ be such a detestable
hole! Why have you gone away, and taken all the life and
brightness out of everything?
"If I had not the house to look after--and there is not much to
interest one in that at present--I declare life would not be
worth the trouble it entails in the mere matter of dressing and
dining, and slating the servants and tradespeople.
"I went to Mrs. Reade's last night. Everybody was there; but I
was bored to that extent that I came home in an hour (and
physicked _ennui_ at the card-table, where I lost ten pounds).
I could not get up any interest in anybody. Mrs. Reade herself
looked remarkably well. She is a very stylish woman, though she
is so small. And Miss Brownlow looked handsome, as usual--to
those who care for that dark kind of beauty. I confess I don't.
I could only long for you, and think what a lily you would have
been amongst them all, with your white neck and arms. (Be very
careful of your complexion, my darling, while you are in the
country; don't let the wind roughen your fine skin, nor sit by
the fire without a screen for your face).
"As usual, poor Reade got a good deal snubbed. I would not be
in his place for something. But if a wife of mine told me in
the presence of guests that I had had as much wine as was good
for me, I'd take care she didn't do it a second time. My little
wife, however, will know better than that; _I_ have no fear of
being henpecked. It was a kind of musical evening, and Sarah
Brownlow sang several new songs. I thought her voice had gone
off a great deal.
"I must say for Mrs. Beatrice, that she is a capital hostess,
and manages her parties as well as anybody. But this one was
immensely slow. Everything is slow now you are away. Is it
necessary for you to remain at Adelonga for the whole time of
your aunt's visit? Can't you come back to town soon, and stay
with Mrs. Reade? _Do_ try and manage it; I'm sure your aunt
would be willing, and it would be a most delightful arrangement
all round.
"You will find Adelonga very dull, I fancy. It used to be a
pleasant house in the old days, when Thornley was a bachelor;
but two marriages must have altered both it and him, and the
second Mrs. Thornley is not lively, even at the best of times,
and must be terribly depressing as an invalid. There are a lot
of children, too, are there not? If your aunt doesn't let you
come back, can't you, when your cousin is well enough,
manoeuvre to get me an invitation? I would not mind a country
house if you and I were in it together. Nothing could well be
drearier than town is without you. And it would be so charming
to be both under the same roof!
"And this reminds me of something I want to speak to you about
seriously, so give me your best attention. (I wonder whether,
having read so far, you are beginning to cover yourself with
blushes in anticipation of what is coming? I am sure you are.)
"You told me, you know, my darling, that you did not wish to be
married for a year or two--not until the house was built and
finished, you said--because you were so young. But I have been
thinking that that will never do. The house will probably be an
immense time in hand; it is not like an ordinary plain house,
you see. And _I_ am not young, if you are. I don't say that I
am old, but still I have come to that time of life when a man,
if he means to marry and settle, should do it as soon as
possible. And you are not any younger than your cousin Laura
was when she married last year; and her husband, moreover, was
a mere boy. I remember when Buxton was born, and he can't be
five-and-twenty, nor anything like it. So you see, my pet, your
proposal is _quite_ absurd and unreasonable.
"And now I will tell you what mine is. And I know my little
girl's gentle and generous disposition too well to doubt that
she will offer any serious opposition to it, or to any of my
urgent wishes. I propose that we marry without any delay; that
is to say, with no more delay than the preparing of your
trousseau necessitates.
"We have already been engaged some months, and by the time your
visit is over and your preparations made, we shall have fully
reached the average term of engagements amongst people of our
class. I want you to let me write to your aunt (I am sure she
would see the matter _quite_ from my point of view), and
suggest a day in September, or in October at the latest. That
is a lovely time of year, and all my other plans would fit in
with such an arrangement beautifully.
"You have never travelled, nor seen anything of the world yet;
and I should like to show you a little before you settle down
in your big house to all the cares of state. So I thought we
would go for a short honeymoon to Sydney or
Tasmania--whichever you like best; then come back for the
races, and to see how the house was going on. I think there
will be a club ball, too, about that time; if so, I know you
would like to go to it _with your diamond necklace on_. Would
you not? And then--while the shell of the house is building--I
propose we repeat the honeymoon tour on a larger scale, and go
to Europe.
"I know you would like to see all that Laura Buxton is seeing
now; and I will take care that you see a great deal besides.
You shall make the old grand tour, if you like it; it will be
new enough to you.
"And we will have a good time in Paris; and we will amuse
ourselves, wherever we go, collecting furniture and pictures,
and ornaments for our house.
"You shall choose everything for your own rooms--as I told you
my wife should--from the best looms and workshops in the world.
And then when we come home we will take a house somewhere while
we superintend the fitting up of our own.
"And finally, we will give a brilliant ball or something, by
way of housewarming, and settle down to domestic life.
"Now is not this a charming programme? I am sure you will think
so--indeed you _must_, for I have set my heart upon it.
"Pray write at once, dear love, and give me leave to put
matters in train. Do you know you have been away four days and
I have only had a post-card to tell me you arrived safely! That
is not how you are going to treat me, I hope. I know there is a
daily mail from Adelonga, and (though I repudiate post-cards) I
don't care what sort of scribble you send so long as you write
constantly. Remember what I told you about that. And remember
your _promise_.
"And now, good-night, my sweetest Rachel. Sleep well, darling,
and dream of me,
"Your faithful lover,
"GRAHAM KINGSTON."
MISS FETHERSTONHAUGH _to_ MR. KINGSTON.
"My dearest Graham,
"I am afraid you will think I ought to have written to you
before, but I have been so much engaged ever since I arrived
that I really have not had an opportunity.
"Mr. Thornley is always showing me about the place, or the
children are wanting me to have a walk with them, or my cousin
sends for me to her room to see the baby; so that I may say I
have scarcely a moment to call my own until bedtime comes, and
then I am much too sleepy to write--the effect of the country
air, I suppose. I am enjoying myself excessively.
"The weather is lovely, and this is certainly the most
delightful place. It is a regular old bush house, which has
been added to in every direction.
"The rooms are low, and straggle about anyhow; there is no
front door--or, rather, there are several; and it has shingle
roofs and weatherboard walls (though all the outhouses are
brick and stone, and Mr. Thornley is going to build a new house
presently, which I think is _such_ a pity.)
"My own room has a canvas ceiling, which flaps up and down when
the wind is high: and most of the floors are of that dark,
rough-sawn native wood of olden times, which makes it necessary
that the best carpets should have drugget, or some kind of
padding under them. But, oh, how exquisitely the whole house is
kept inside and out.
"The drawing-room is _much_ prettier than ours at Toorak;
because Mr. Thornley has travelled a great deal at odd times,
and collected beautiful things, and seems to have good taste,
as well as plenty of money. There are quantities of pictures
everywhere; he is very fond of pictures.
"And the conservatories are half as big as the house; he is
fond of flowers too. Just now they are full of delicious
things--cyclamens, and orchids, and primulas, and begonias, and
heaths of all sorts, and azaleas, and I don't know what. There
are quantities of flowers in the garden too, so early as it is.
The great bushes--almost trees--of camellias are simply
wonderful; and there is a bed of double hyacinths under my
window of all the colours of the rainbow.
"Then there is a fernery--part of it roofed in, and part
running down through the shrubberies on one side. The tree
ferns make a matted roof overhead, and other ferns grow
between like bushes, and little ferns sprout everywhere
underneath amongst stones and things. There are winding paths
in and out through it, where it is quite dark at mid-day; and
there are little rills and waterfalls trickling there in all
directions, carried down in pipes from a dam up amongst the
hills behind the house.
"Don't you think _we_ might have a fern-tree gully? If the
water could be got for it, it would run down the side of a
terraced garden even better than it does here, where the ground
falls very slightly. If you like I will ask Mr. Thornley how he
made his, and all about it; he is always delighted if he can
give any information. He is such an excessively kind man. I
like him _so_ much. How long is it since you saw him? When he
was a bachelor, I think you said you stayed at Adelonga. That
must have been a long time ago, for his eldest daughter (just
now finishing her education in Germany) is older than I am.
There is a painting of him in the dining-room as a young man,
and one of his first wife. His is not the least like what he is
now. But I will tell you what might _really_ be his
portrait--Long's old inquisitor in the 'Dancing Girl'
picture--I mean that genial old fellow in the arm-chair, who
leans his arms on the table and grasps (I am sure without
knowing what he is doing) the base of the crucifix, while he
enjoys the sight of that pretty creature dancing. If you go and
look at him the next time you find yourself near the picture
gallery, you will see Mr. Thornley's very image. He is the
soul of hospitality; he is so courteous to everybody in the
house--even to his children; he is one of the nicest and
kindest men I ever met.
"But I have not said a word about my cousin Lucilla, or the
baby, or the other children. The baby is a little _duck_. I am
allowed to have him a good deal, because the nurse says I am
much 'handier' than most young ladies; and I certainly _have_
the knack of making him stop crying and of soothing him off to
sleep.
"The other children--three dear little girls--are in the
schoolroom; but Lucilla will not allow their governess to keep
them too strictly, because they are not very strong. Lucilla
herself I like _excessively_. She is much quieter than
Beatrice, and I don't think she is so clever, and she is not at
all pretty: but she is very sweet-tempered and kind, and very
fond of Mr. Thornley, though he is so much older than she is. I
am glad to say she is getting quite strong; so much so indeed
that she is going to have a large party next week.
"There are to be some country races, in which Mr. Thornley is
interested, and we are all going, and some people are coming
back with us to dine and spend the night. There is some talk of
a ball, too, to celebrate the coming of age of young Bruce
Thornley, who is now at Oxford--Mr. Thornley's eldest son. That
would be the week after. I _hope_ Lucilla will decide to have
it; they say Adelonga balls are always charming, and that
people come to them from far and near.
"One enormous room, with two fireplaces, which is gun-room,
billiard-room, smoking-room, and gentlemen's sanctum generally
(which in the general way is divided by big Japanese screens,
and laid down with carpets), was built and floored on purpose
for dancing in those old times that you remember. Perhaps you
have yourself danced there? Tell me if you have. I can see what
a delightful ball-room it would make, with lots of shrubs and
flowers. It opens into the conservatory at one end, and a
passage leads from the other both into the dining-room and out
upon the verandahs, which are wide, and bowered with creepers,
and filled with Indian and American lounge chairs.
"How are you getting on in town? Did you go to Beatrice's
party, and was it nice? I hope William will look after my dear
Black Agnes properly, and not let her out in the paddock at
night. _Would_ you mind sometimes just calling in to see, when
you are up that way?
"The workmen are having fine weather, are they not? Aunt
Elizabeth and I have been telling Lucilla all about the house,
and she says it will be magnificent. But Mr. Thornley does not
like pink for the boudoir. He says if I have pictures, some
shade of sage, or grey, or peacock would be better as a ground
colour. What do you think? I must say _I_ like the idea of
pink.
"Now I have come to the end of my paper. And have I not
written you a long letter? I hope you will not find it very
stupid.
"Aunt Elizabeth and Lucilla send their kindest regards, and
with much love, believe me,
"My dear Graham,
"Yours most affectionately,
"RACHEL FETHERSTONHAUGH."
"P.S.--Just received yours of Tuesday. _Please_ give me a
little time to think over your proposal, and do not do anything
at present. The tour in Europe would be very delightful, but I
think, if you don't mind, I would rather not be married _quite_
so soon."