“A Judge of Refinement.”
Possibly my correspondent would claim that her judicial merits in the matter of refinement extended to language.
A total stranger sent me the following—among epistolary curiosities—dated from a well-known ladies’ club:
“Dear Mrs. Tweedie,
“I am doing a most unusual thing and I fear you will at once say—impertinent! but please don’t. You travel so tremendously, each of your works I seem to like better than the other. I suppose you always have a maid with you? or a companion? If only you would take me with you (I would pay my own expenses) on one of your fascinating journeys. I am just consumed with a desire to travel in unfrequented country and would do anything if only I could go with you sometime. Please do not consider me a most rude and forward girl.”
Being struck with this letter, I sent for the girl. She came; tall, dark, handsome, and a lady. It appeared that she was not happy at home, but had means of her own. She had been abroad with friends, who invariably stayed in large hotels, all alike and all uninteresting, whilst she wanted to see something of the real life of the foreign lands she visited.
“But what do you want to do with me?” I asked.
“Travel with you. I would go as your secretary, as your maid, as anything if you would only take me. I would pay all my own expenses and promise to be useful.”
“Maids sew on buttons and lace up boots,” I replied, laughing.
“I’ll do all that and more, if you will only take me. I have your books, and I know I should love you, and I do so want to travel, to really travel as you do.”