“Dear Miss,
“I seed you at the Fisher Mat. on Friday last and you took my heart a treat. I’m only a young Gallery boy—wot’s in the flower trade. But I knows wot I knows—And you’re It. Oh Miss! I does want to see you act in Juliet in your own butey-ful ouse, if only you ad a seat as you could spare just for me and a pal o’ mine as is alright. I send you some red cars sweet and scenty fresh from Covent Market, your true-gone
“Bill.
“Hoping for tickets.”
“Poor lad. Sally would have obliged him, I feel sure,” Canon Sinquier said.
“Alas, what ephemeral creatures, Canon, we are.”
“We are in His hands.”
“She knew that. Sally’s faith never forsook her.... Oh, Canon, some day perhaps I may come to you to direct me. I’m so soul-sick.”
“Is there no one in London to advise you?”
“Nobody at all.”