"Louis, dear, I have decided to remain a week here, if you don't mind. I'm a little tired, I think. John Burleson, poor boy, does not need me. I'm terribly worried about him. Rita writes that there is no danger of pneumonia, but that Dr. Colbert is making a careful examination. I hope it is not lung trouble. It would be too tragic. He is only twenty-seven. Still, they cure such things now, don't they? Rita is hoping he will go to Arizona, and has offered to go with him as his model. That means—if she does go—that she'll nurse him and take care of him. She is devoted to him. What a generous girl she is!
"Dear, if you don't need me, or are not too lonely without seeing me come fluttering into your studio every evening at tea-time, I would really like to remain here a few days longer. I have arranged business so that I can stay if it is agreeable to you. Tell me exactly how you feel about it and I will do exactly as you wish—which, please God—I shall always do while life lasts.
"Sam came up over Sunday, lugging Harry Annan and a bulldog—a present for Hélène. Sam is so sentimental about Hélène!
"And he's so droll about it. But I've seen him that way before; haven't you? And Hélène, bless her heart, lets him make eyes at her and just laughs in that happy, wholesome way of hers.
"She's a perfect dear, Louis; so sweet and kind to me, so unaffected, so genuine, so humorous about herself and her funny title. She told me that she would gladly shed it if she were not obliged to shed her legacy with it. I don't blame her. What an awful title—when you translate it!
"Sam is temporarily laid up. He attempted to milk a cow and she kicked him; and he's lying in a hammock and Hélène is reading to him, while Harry paints her portrait. Oh, dear—I love Harry Annan, but he can't paint!
"Dearest—as I sit here in my room with the chintz curtains blowing and the sun shining on the vines outside my open windows, I am thinking of you; and my girl's heart is very full—very humble in the wonder of your love for me—a miracle ever new, ever sweeter, ever holier.
"I pray that it be given to me to see the best way for your happiness and your welfare; I pray that I may not be confused by thought of self.
"Dear, the spring is going very swiftly. I can scarcely believe that May is already here—is already passing—and that the first of June is so near.
"Will you always love me? Will you always think tenderly of me—happily—! Alas, it is a promise nobody can honestly make. One can be honest only in wishing it may be so.