"I tell you—I've told you a thousand times—we must wait. There are reasons——"
"What reasons?"
"If you're patient——"
"I'm tired of being patient. Take me now or I'll never speak to you again."
"Well then, don't."
They parted. After an evening of utter misery she wrote to him:
My Darling Bunny—I know that I was hateful this afternoon. I know that I've been hateful other afternoons and shall be hateful again on afternoons to come. You're not very nice either on these occasions. What are we to do about it? We do love one another—I know we do. We ought to be kinder to one another than we are to any one else and yet we seem to like to lash out and hurt one another. And I think this is because there's something really wrong in our relationship. You make me feel as though you were ashamed to love me. Now why should you be ashamed? Why can't we be open and clear before all the world?
If you have some secret that you are keeping from me, tell me and we'll discuss it frankly like friends. Take me to see your mother. If she doesn't like me at first perhaps she will when she knows me better. Anyway we shall be sure of where we are. Oh, Bunny, we could be so happy. Why don't you let us be? I know that it is partly my fault. I suppose I'm conceited and think I'm always right. But I don't really inside—only if you don't pretend to have an opinion of your own no one will ever listen to anything you say. Oh! I don't know what I'm writing. I am tempted to telephone to you and see if you are in and if you are to ask you to come over here. Perhaps you will come of your own accord. Every footstep outside the door seems to be yours and then it goes on up the stairs. Don't let us quarrel, Bunny. I hate it so and we say such horrid things to one another that we neither of us mean. Forgive me for anything I've done or said. I love you. I love you. . . . Bunny darling.—Your loving
M.
Her letter was crossed by one from him.
Dearest Millie—I didn't mean what I said this afternoon. I love you so much that when we quarrel it's terrible. Do be patient, darling. You want everything to be right all in a moment. I'll tell you one day how difficult it has been all these months. You'll see then that it isn't all my fault. I'm not perfect but I do love you. You're the most beautiful thing ever made and I'm a lucky devil to be allowed to kiss your hand. I'll be round at Cromwell Road five o'clock to-morrow afternoon. Please forgive me, Millie darling.—Your loving
Bunny.