I should not wonder if I commit some
folly. One has read of women like this in the _cinque-cento_ time in
Italy, but up to now I had never met one. She is not in the room ten
minutes before one feels a sense of unrest, and desire for one
hardly knows what--principally to touch her, I fancy. Good Lord!
what a skin! pure milk and rare roses--and the reddest Cupid's bow
of a mouth! You had better come down at once (these things are
probably in your line) to save me from some sheer idiocy. The
situation is exceptional--she and I practically alone in the house,
for old Barton does not count. She had nowhere to go, and as far as
I can make out has not a friend in the world. I suppose I ought to
leave. I will try to on Monday; but come down to-morrow by the 4.00
train.
Yours,
CHRISTOPHER.
P. S.--'47 port A1, and two or three brands of the old aunt's
champagne exceptional, Barton says--we can sample them. Shall send
this up by express; you will get it in time for the 4.00 train.
[Footnote 1: A letter from Mr. Carruthers which came into Evangeline's
possession later, and which she put into her journal at this
place.--EDITOR'S NOTE.]
BRANCHES,
Friday night, _November 4th.
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