All the same we both think you'd better take him away at Midsummer. He says he can stick it till then, but not a day longer. Poor Mick! He has the most mysterious troubles.
I daresay it's the Cheltenham climate as much as anything. It doesn't suit me or Bonny either, and it's simply killing Ferdie by inches. I suppose that's why Bartie makes us stay here--in the hope--
Oh! my dear, I'm worried out of my life about him. He's never got over that fever he had in South Africa. He's looking ghastly.
And the awful thing is that I can't do a thing for him. Not a thing. Unless--
You haven't forgotten the promise you made me two years ago, have you?
Dorothy seemed to think you could put Bonny and me up--again!--at Midsummer. Can you? And if poor Ferdie wants to come and see us, you won't turn him off your door-mat, will you?
Your lovingest
"VERA."
Frances said, "Poor Vera! She even makes poor Mick an excuse for seeing Ferdie."