"That is true," said Valerie, pensively. "Rita, I'm beginning to think I'd like to have a letter. I believe—believe that I'll write to—to somebody."
"That is more than I'll do," yawned Rita, closing her eyes. She opened them presently and said:
"I've a nice little writing case in my trunk. Sam presented it. Bring it out here if you're going to write."
The next time she unclosed her eyes Valerie sat cross-legged on the grass by the hammock, the writing case on her lap, scribbling away as though she really enjoyed it.
The letter was to Neville. It ran on:
"Rita is asleep in a hammock; she's too pretty for words. I love her.
Why? Because she loves me, silly!
"I'm a very responsive individual, Kelly, and a pat on the head elicits purrs.
"I want you to write to me. Also, pray be flattered; you are the only person on earth who now has my address. I may send it to José Querida; but that is none of your business. When I saw the new moon on the stump-pond last night I certainly did wish for Querida and a canoe. He can sing very charmingly.
"Now I suppose you want to know under what circumstances I have permitted myself to wish for you. If you talk to a man about another man he always attempts to divert the conversation to himself. Yes, he does. And you are no better than other men, Louis—not exempt from their vanities and cunning little weaknesses. Are you?
"Well, then, as you admit that you are thoroughly masculine, I'll admit that deep in a corner of my heart I've wished for you a hundred times. The moon suggests Querida; but about everything suggests you. Now are you flattered?