Mother.
XI
From Miss Marion Hunter
to Miss Constance Jackson
Northampton, Mass., Nov. 10, 189-.
Dear Con: I'm afraid it will be impossible for me to accept your seductive invitation for Thanksgiving. We're pulling the girls up a little sharply this year, and it would hardly do for me to come back late. But it would be good to hear a little music once more!
It was rather odd that you should have mentioned that idiotic affair of mine in Paris—the hero of it has just written me a long letter apropos of his nephew, who wants to marry that little Miss Stockton, whose Harvard cousin you knew so well. That portly squire of dames is actually simple and straightforward enough to suggest that I precipitate the damsel into the expectant arms of his nephew and heir-apparent—he is used to getting his own way, certainly, and he writes a rather attractive letter. I owe him much (as you know) and if Elizabeth, who is a dear little thing and far too nice for the crowd she's getting in with—you knew Carol Sawyer, didn't you?—has such a weak-kneed interest in college as to be turned out of the way by a sight of the destined young gentleman, I fancy she would not have remained long with us in any case. She's a pretty creature and had cunning ways—I shall miss her in the house. For I don't believe she'll come back; she's not at all strong, and her parents are much worried about her health. It is more than probable that the Home will prove her sphere.
Personally, I don't mind stating that I would it were mine. When I consider how my days are spent——
You might not believe it, but they grow stupider and stupider. Perhaps I've been at it a bit too long, but I never saw such papers as these freshmen give one.
And they have begun singing four hymns in succession on Sunday morning! It's very hard—why they should select Abide with Me and Lead, Kindly Light for morning exercises and wail them both through to the bitter end every Sunday in the year is one of the local mysteries.
I must get at my papers, they cover everything. Remember me to Mr. Jackson; it was very kind of him to suggest it, but I must wait till Christmas for the Opera, I'm afraid. If I should not come back next year—and it is more than possible that I shan't—I may be in Boston. I hope in that case you won't have gone away.
Yours always,
M. I. Hunter.