This is only a hurried little scrawl to say that Fred and I are going to be up in town for a night next week and should awfully like to see you if it’s possible. Fred’s dining that night with some silly old writer, so if I might just come in and have a crumb with you I’d be awfully glad. Fred and I have both decided that we didn’t like Treliss a bit this year and we’re never going there again. If it hadn’t been for you I simply don’t know what we’d have done. There’s something about the place.
Fred felt it too, only he thought it was indigestion. And then the people! I know you rather liked those Maradick people. But I thought the man perfectly awful. Of course one had to be polite, but, my dear, I really don’t think he’s very nice, not quite the sort of man—oh well! you know! Not that I’d say anything against him for the world, but there’s really no knowing how far one can go with a man of that kind. But of course I scarcely saw anything of them.
How is Tony? I hear that they’ve settled in Chelsea. Is Sir Richard reconciled? You must tell me everything when we meet. Fred—he is such a pet just now—sends regards.
Ever
Your loving
Milly.
To James Maradick, Esq.,
The Elms, Epsom.
12 Park Lane, W.
October 21.