They talk now of the way you laughed and joked with those poor frightened girls (who had such good cause to be frightened) and brought them back to sanity with a jest. I feel that if I had the least atom of heroism in me I would marry you for that feat alone, and let cold facts go hang; but, ah, Jim! magnificent as you are on the grand occasions, they come but seldom, and in the meantime, Jim—I’ll leave that to your own honesty.
I’m plebeian, Jim, and you’re a nobleman, with a beautiful but embarrassing disregard for vulgar necessities.
However, I can say this for myself—for surely I may brag a little to my lover—I can try to match your splendid physical bravery by my own moral courage.
You may rest your soul in peace on one point. If I am not for you, I’m for no man, no, not so much as a half-glance of the eye. I wouldn’t hold myself a bit more straitly if I were your wife.
You’ll be angry at this letter. Well, I’ll stand your anger. I have caused it, and I’ll bear the blame. I know that we could not be happy without some visible means of support, yet I do not blame you in the least for thinking otherwise.
Be as kind to me as you can, Jim, for I love you very much in my commonplace way. I’ll admit, too, that I had rather have your fire than my refrigerator—oh, if you could only make some money—not a great deal, but enough for a little house of our own, and enough in the bank to buy groceries!
With my best love, and an aching lump in my throat,
Your mother, sister, and sweetheart,
Anne.
Jim dropped the letter, and his lips trembled a little. Parts of it touched him deeply, and he was the more enraged and hurt at the rest because of that.