I dare not write more.
G.
Guinevere to Iseult
Camelot, April 21.
Darling Iseult,
I am overjoyed that you can both come. It will be too delightful to see you again. It is ages since we have met, isn’t it? I do hope that the King is quite well and that his lumbago is not troubling him. Merlin will be here, and he will be sure to do him good. He might also do something for his deafness.
Arthur will be delighted to hear you are coming. He is devoted to the King. It will be a tiny party, of course—only Merlin, Yniol, Orkneys, Astolats, and a few of the knights. We will try to make you comfortable; but Camelot isn’t Tintagel, and we have nothing to compare with your wonderful woods.
Good-bye, darling, give my best regards to the King.
Your loving
Guinevere.
P.S.—Sir Kay Hedius has just come back from Brittany. He was at our old friend Sir Tristram’s wedding. He said it was glorious, and that she—Iseult the Lily-handed—was a dream of beauty. Tristram was looking very well and in tearing spirits. He’s grown quite fat. Isn’t it funny?