Saving your presence, dearest, I would rather have Prince Otto, a very lovable character for second affections to cling to.  Richard Feverel would never marry again, so I don’t ask for him:  as for the rest, they are all too excellent for me.  They give me the impression of having worn copy-books under their coats, when they were boys, to cheat punishment:  and the copy-books got beaten into their systems.

You must find me somebody who was a “gallous young hound” in the days of his youth—­Crossjay, for instance:—­there!  I have found the very man for me!

But really and truly, are you better?  It will not hurt your foot to come to me, since I am not to come to you?  How I long to see you again, dearest! it is an age!  As a matter of fact, it is a fortnight:  but I dread lest you will find some change in me.  I have kept a real white hair to show you, I drew it out of my comb the other morning:  wound up into a curl it becomes quite visible, and it is ivory-white:  you are not to think it flaxen, and take away its one wee sentiment!  And I make you an offer:—­you shall have it if, honestly, you can find in your own head a white one to exchange.

Dearest, I am not hurt, nor do I take seriously to heart your mother’s present coldness.  How much more I could forgive her when I put myself in her place!  She may well feel a struggle and some resentment at having to give up in any degree her place with you.  All my selfishness would come to the front if that were demanded of me.

Do not think, because I leave her alone, that I am repaying her coldness in the same coin.  I know that for the present anything I do must offend.  Have I demanded your coming too soon?  Then stay away another day—­or two:  every day only piles up the joy it will be to have your arms round me once more.  I can keep for a little longer:  and the gray hair will keep, and many to-morrows will come bringing good things for us, when perhaps your mother’s “share of the world” will be over.

Don’t say it, but when you next kiss her, kiss her for me also:  I am sorry for all old people:  their love of things they are losing is so far more to be reverenced and made room for than ours of the things which will come to us in good time abundantly.

To-night I feel selfish at having too much of your love:  and not a bit of it can I let go!  I hope, Beloved, we shall live to see each other’s gray hairs in earnest:  gray hairs that we shall not laugh at, as at this one I pulled.  How dark your dear eyes will look with a white setting!  My heart’s heart, every day you grow larger round me, and I so much stronger depending upon you!

I won’t say—­come for certain, to-morrow:  but come if, and as soon as, you can.  I seem to see a mile further when I am on the lookout for you:  and I shall be long-sighted every day until you come.  It is only doubtful hope deferred which maketh the heart sick.  I am as happy as the day is long waiting for you:  but the day is long, dearest, none the less when I don’t see you.