This letter has grown like Jack's beanstalk, until I think I'd better post it on my way to dinner, instead of adding rhapsodies about moonlight in the Abbey. I won't forget to put them in though, next time I write, which will be almost immediately—if not sooner.
Your even more loving than loquacious
Audrie.
XXVIII
MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN
Tintern Abbey
My Dear Sis: He came, the moon saw, and I—didn't conquer!
You know what I mean? I'm sure you remember what I hoped to do at Tintern Abbey by the light of the moon; and if you are the good elder sister I think you are, I trust you prayed for my success. If you did, don't mind too much about the prayer not being answered, but try again, and give Sir Lionel "absent treatments," and all that sort of thing, because, if the moon had been properly turned on, he might have been brought to the point. For I look my best by moonlight, and have a great gift of pathos in a white light—like heroines of melodrama who always have themselves followed about by it on purpose—or else by a patch of snow. But the moon was only on at half-cock, and didn't work well, and after we had stubbed our toes on several things in dark shadows among the ruins, I just folded up my plan of campaign, and put it into my pocket until next time.
The pity of it!—when I had been at a lot of trouble to persuade Mrs. Norton that it would be damp in the Abbey, and that there exists a special kind of bat which haunts ruins and is consumed by an invincible desire to nest in the front hair. So she stopped in the hotel; and as for Miss Lethbridge, I knew I could trust Dick to look after her. But—well, it can't be helped, and the moon is growing bigger and brighter every night. I don't know whether there were any toe-stubbing incidents in the ranks of the rear-guard; but something must have happened, for mademoiselle has come home looking stricken. I'm dying to hear what's the matter, but Dick won't tell. Perhaps she swallowed a bat!