My month abroad will serve two ends. By correspondence we shall know one another better; and our first meeting will thereby be made less embarrassing and formidable--especially to me. Again (and you must forgive me for saying it), time and absence may reveal to you more of your own heart and mind. Perhaps you will repent most bitterly of your letter which I am now answering, and, if so, it will surely be better to admit that you have been the victim of a passing madness rather than to fasten life-long unhappiness upon us both.
SUSAN BRIGGS.
I can hardly say I am proud of this production. Quite the contrary. Both in matter and style, it's altogether too un-Susanish. Indeed, now that I've tried and failed, I'm beginning to have more respect for the effusion of the young lady in the short-waisted muslin frock. Perhaps if I'd taken out the bits about the coach and the casual intercourse her letter would have been better than mine.
Heaven knows what Susan will make of it! I'm positively nervy every time I hear her on the stairs.
All the same, I've said the best thing to Lord Ruddington, even if I've said it in the worst way. Going to Sainte Véronique bright and early to-morrow morning is quite a good scheme. If the noble lord comes hot-foot after us, I can certainly manage him better at Sainte Véronique than here at the Grange. Besides, I'm half persuaded that the poor boy's paroxysm won't last long. If needs be, we'll go to Alice's when we come back to England.
I think we'll travel by Dieppe. It means more train-journey on the other side, but he's less likely to track us and bother us that way. Of course, if he did anything of the kind, it would be abominable. But one never knows where a madman will draw the line.
Before dinner.
Susan isn't happy.
I can see she doesn't like my draft. But she's docile, and she's going to use it.
I made the poor thing sit beside me at my desk while we went through it together. At the end she said: