'My dear Audrey,' it began,
'I hope that you will not think that I have forgotten you; but when there is literally nothing to say, I am rather a bad hand at cooking up a letter; and I had not a single fact to go upon, except to tell you that, on the whole, we were pretty fit, and were jogging along somehow. Well, I have a whole budget of facts now, and my pen has become a valuable implement.
'First, then, Blake has come to terms with Unwin; and he is to begin work on Monday. I believe in his heart he would still prefer the New Zealand scheme; and if we could only get rid of his mother—not an easy task that—I should be inclined to give him a helping hand in that direction; but as Blake does not see his way clear to leave her, he may as well take the berth offered to him. Privately, I believe Unwin is hugging himself under the idea that he has got a treasure. He spoke of him to me as a highly intelligent fellow and a first-rate Greek scholar, which we know are facts. His hours are pretty light—from ten to six—so he will have his evenings to himself; but I am sorry to say he means to look out for pupils. I have talked myself hoarse on the subject; but he will not listen to reason. Of course his health will suffer: he has always been accustomed to so much fresh air and exercise. If I could only induce him to join a cricket or tennis club! But it would never do to propose it just now; he has no heart for play.
'One thing, he has given in to me about Kester, though I had some difficulty with him at first. We had a long talk last night, and I employed all my eloquence to bring him to see the thing in its right light; and at last he consented that I should have my way.
'Do you remember my telling you about George Moore—that nice fellow who got into trouble with his rector? Well, he has married lately, and his wife is a very good woman. Moore has taken a capital house at Brighton. He has a curacy at Kemp Town, and he is looking out for a few pupils to prepare for the university.
'I am going to send Kester to him for a year or two, until he is old enough to go to Oxford. Abercrombie tells me the sea air will do him a world of good. I have just written to him to come up at once, as he must have a proper outfit. And now I must tell you that Blake has found some very good rooms, Kensington way. I went down with him yesterday, and I think they will do very well.
'There is a good-sized drawing-room—a sunny, cheerful room, with a smaller one behind, where Blake can work with his pupils—and two good bedrooms. Biddy (how I wish she were not to be of the ménage!) will have to content herself with a dull slip of a room on the basement. Of course the furniture is shabby, and there is very little of it; but I mean to introduce a few improvements by degrees. I like the appearance of the woman of the house. She is a widow, and is evidently very respectable. Her daughter, a very tidy sort of person, waits on the lodgers.
'I think I have told you about all now. Blake has thawed lately, and we have long talks together, though perhaps they are not cheerful ones. On the whole, I think he shows a great deal of pluck. I doubt whether any other young man of his age would behave as well. If the Victoria Cross were ever given for moral heroism, I am sure Blake would get it.
'Good-bye until we meet. I suppose I shall be back in another week or ten days. Take care of yourself, my dear, for the sake of your affectionate friend and cousin,
'Michael.'