My dear Gerald,—I will not say that your letter was not a surprise to Lord Venniker and myself. It was more a surprise perhaps to him than to me. We have talked it over together. It was, we feel, very honourable of you to write it. We could not have wished you to act otherwise than as you have acted.
You will, I know, understand, dear Gerald, that Lord Venniker has needed two or three days to think about what you have said. Ethel is our only daughter, she is very dear to us, and though we have never formed any plans for her marriage—it would not be right or wise to form them—yet it was in our minds that she should see something more of the world before thinking of entering upon the solemn responsibilities of married life. Perhaps Lord Venniker feels this point more strongly than I do. She is very young, and we should not like her to choose a husband who might not be all that her inexperience pictures him as being.
But while this is so, we have a special feeling for you, dear Gerald. We cannot forget that you have been Harry’s great friend, and if he has been of some use to you (as I believe he has been), we know that you have also done much for him. Can I ever forget those dreadful days when his life was in the balance, and you were so good and wrote to me every day about him? No mother, I think, could forget that. Ever since then I have felt you to be more like a son than a friend. We do not wish then to place a bar in the way of your telling dear Ethel of your love for her. I do not think Lord Venniker had any suspicion of it until I read your letter to him. But a mother’s eyes are sharper in such matters, and you will not mind my saying that I think perhaps I guessed your secret almost as soon as you guessed it yourself. And loving Ethel as I do, how can I be angry or surprised at your falling in love with her?
There is one thing more, Gerald, that I have guessed; shall I tell you what it is? It is only a guess, but I think I cannot be wrong. Ethel has never told me her feeling, but words are not always necessary, and a little bird whispered in my ear one day that she would not be indifferent to the love you feel for her. At all events you must come and ask her; it will be Harry’s birthday on Thursday, and it will be only natural that you should be here.
Lord Venniker wishes me to say that he leaves Ethel quite free to act as her own heart prompts. He will not seek to influence her at all either way. But he feels that, if she accepts the offer that you wish to make her, there should be no thought of marriage, nor indeed should the engagement be publicly announced, until you have got your fellowship at college, and are beginning to be settled in life. You are both very young, and can afford to wait. Perhaps it will be good for you both to get a little more knowledge of one another by waiting a little. You must not ask us to give up Ethel too soon.
I seem to have written rather coldly and formally. But, dear Gerald, let me say in my own name that I love you as if you were my own son, and that I cannot give a stronger sign of my affection than by being willing to entrust the future of my dearest daughter, if it be God’s will, to your keeping. May God the All-Holy and All-Wise bless you both!
We shall look for you on Tuesday. The carriage will meet the usual train.
Yours affectionately,
Helen Etheldreda Venniker.
September the 8th.
P.S.—Ethel, of course, has not been told anything of all this at present. She is away now, but is coming home on Wednesday.