There's a sunset behaving riotously outside. I am sure that it appears much more sedate in New York!
Whimsically yours,
H.R.H. Me
P.S. I forgot to answer your questions about the Other Doctor. He is thirty-two, rather tall, and most particularly exasperating.
M.
New York City
August 4th
Dear Princess:
If Denton may send you books, so may I. In this mail three friends of mine go to you: A Romance of the Nursery, Paul and Fiametta, and Grahame's Golden Age. Please be kind to them. I rather think you must be like Fiametta,—a slim, brown child, with oval face, and curious, parti-colored hair dark as the oak-settle in the hall—that the sunshine burnished into brightness.
I dreamed of you last night, an adventurous dream. Some day I will write you about it. Not now!
With the books I am sending you a talisman. I hope it will bring you all you wish. Of course, I do not know, but I have told it to try. There is a secret hidden at its heart. But I do not believe that you can find it out all by yourself. That would take a Poet! Now write me, and tell me how egotistical I am! But remember, after all, I am nothing more or less than Mere Man.
I hope you will care for your added charm, for the books, and a little for