As for rosiness and blitheness, I've spent my afternoon and evening like Hervey--I wonder if anybody ever read any more of his book than the title?--in Meditations Among the Tombs. My day has been ghost-wan, tomb-silent.
No. It has been as full of colour and of sound as could be. But the colours have been the grand and solemn hues of autumn, and the sounds have been majestical as organs and trumpets. To-day I have not been gay. But I have been happy. And I can't name any day at Sainte Véronique that I repent of less than this.
Saturday morning.
This is the answer I have written for Susan to send by the early post:--
DEAR LORD RUDDINGTON,--I am so sorry that you were anxious about me. But you must not forget the bargain. And the bargain does not allow of long replies "by return." Indeed, in writing this morning, I am breaking my own rule. When this is posted, I shall have received and answered two letters in one week.
Do not think me grudging or cold-blooded in standing fast to our arrangement. If letters are too frequent they will be short and scrappy, and thus they will fail of their object. For example, nothing could be more devoted and kind than your two notes this week; but they tell me so little about yourself, and hardly anything at all about your daily life, your thoughts, your work, your interests. At present I know no more about you than all Traxelby knew before you came to the Towers.
It is true there is the photograph, which I like very much--though you don't in the least resemble the picture my mind had formed! You were good to take all that trouble in Derlingham so as to get it done so quickly.
Unfortunately, I have no photograph of myself here, and there is no artist, not even a pasty-faced one, in Sainte Véronique. But why should you want my portrait if you have seen me three times?
I sha'n't expect an answer from you "by return;" but I shall expect your next week's letter to tell me more about yourself and your life.
Yours sincerely,