The Indianapolis times., 1934-05-14

whether it was really true that I
used to love Maria Beadnell SO
very much? l told her that there
was no woman in the world, and
there were very few men, who
could ever imagine how much.
You are always the same in my
remembrance. When you say you
are "toothless, fat, old and ugly"
(Which don't believe), fly away
to the house in Lombard Street,
which is pulled down, as if it were
necessary that the very bricks and
mortar should go the way of my
airy castles, and see you in a sort
of raspberry colored dress with a
little black trimming at the top
black velvet it seems to me made
of-cut into vandykes-an i'm
mense number of vandykes-with
my boyish heart pinned like
captured butterfly on every one of
them. I have never seen a girl
play the harp, from that day to
this, but my attention has been
instantly arrested, and that
drawing room has stood before me
so plainly that I could write a
most accurate description of it. I
remember that there used to be a
tendency in your eyebrows to
join together; and sometimes in
the most unlikely places-in Scot
land, America, Italy-on the state
lieSt occasions and the most un-
ceremoniouS-When l have been
talking to a strange face and have
observed even such a Slight as
sociation as this in it, have sud-
denly been carried away at the rate
of a thousand miles a second,
and have thought Maria Bead
NELL"
When we we're falling off from
each other, 1 came from the house
of commons many a night at 2 or
3 o'clock in the morning, only to
wander past the place you were
asleep in. And I have gone over
that ground within these twelve
months, hoping it was not un-
grateful to consider whether any
reputation the world can bestow
is repayment to a man for the loss
of such a vision of his youth as
mine. You ask me to treasure
what you tell me, in my heart of
hearts. Oh, see what 1 have
treasured there, through all this
time and all these changes!
In the course of Saturday I will
write to you at Artillery Place,
sending the little brooches and
telling you when Catherine will
come-not forgetting the little
niece, though 1 don't expect her
to remind me of somebody or
anybody And now to what I have
reserved for the last.
n
T AM dangerous man to be
l. seen with, for so many people
know me. At st. Paul's the Dean
and the whole Chapter know me.
In Paternoster Row Of all places,
the very tiles and chimney-pots
know me. At first, I am little
hesitated whether or no to advise
you to forego that interview or Sug-
geSt another-principally because
what would be very natural and
probable a fortnight hence, seems
scarcely so probable now. Still I
should very much like to see you
before we meet when others are
BY feel it, as it we're, so neces-
sary to our being at ease-and un-
less I hear from you to the con-
trary, you may expect to en-
counter a stranger whom you may
suspect to be the right person If
he wears a muStache.
You would not like better to call
here on Sunday, asking first for
Catherine and then for me? 1t is
almost a positive certainty that
there will be no one here but I,
between 8 and 4. I make this Sug-
gestion, knowing what odd CO.
medicines take place in streets
when they are not wanted to hap
pen; though I know them to be
so unlikely, that I should not
think of such a thing if any one
but you were concerned. If you
think you would not like to come
here, make no change, I will come
there.
I can not trust myself to begin
afreSh. or I should have my re-