[Georgiana Ford to Wilfrid:]

“I had no occasion to consult my brother to be certain that an interview between yourself and Emilia should not take place.  There can be no object, even if the five minutes of the meeting gave her happiness, why the wound of the long parting should be again opened.  She is wretched enough now, though her tenderness for us conceals it as far as possible.  When some heavenly light shall have penetrated her, she will have a chance of peace.  The evil is not of a nature to be driven out by your hands.  If you are not going into the Austrian service, she shall know as much immediately.  Otherwise, be as dead to her as you may, and your noblest feelings cannot be shown under any form but that.”

[Wilfrid to Tracy Runningbrook:]

“Some fellows whom I know want you to write a prologue to a play they are going to get up.  It’s about Shakespeare—­at least, the proceeds go to something of that sort.  Do, like a good fellow, toss us off twenty lines.  Why don’t you write?  By the way, I hope there’s no truth in a report that has somehow reached me, that they have the news down in Monmouth of my deserting to the black-yellow squadrons?  Of course, such a thing as that should have been kept from them.  I hear, too, that your--I suppose I must call her now your—­pupil is falling into bad health.  Think me as cold and ‘British’ as you like; but the thought of this does really affect me painfully.  Upon my honour, it does!  ’And now he yawns!’ you’re saying.  You’re wrong.  We Army men feel just as you poets do, and for a longer time, I think, though perhaps not so acutely.  I send you the ‘Venus’ cameo which you admired.  Pray accept it from an old friend.  I mayn’t see you again.”

[Tracy Runningbrook to Wilfrid:] (enclosing lines)

“Here they are.  It will require a man who knows something about metre to speak them.  Had Shakespeare’s grandmother three Christian names? and did she anticipate feminine posterity in her rank of life by saying habitually, ‘Drat it?’ There is as yet no Society to pursue this investigation, but it should be started.  Enormous thanks for the Venus.  I wore it this morning at breakfast.  Just as we were rising, I leaned forward to her, and she jumped up with her eyes under my chin.  ’Isn’t she a beauty?’ I said.  ‘It was his,’ she answered, changing eyes of eagle for eyes of dove, and then put out the lights.  I had half a mind to offer it, on the spot.  May I?  That is to say, if the impulse seizes me I take nobody’s advice, and fair Venus certainly is not under my chin at this moment.  As to ill health, great mother Nature has given a house of iron to this soul of fire.  The windows may blaze, or the windows may be extinguished, but the house stands firm.  When you are lightning or earthquake, you may have something to reproach yourself for; as it is, be under no alarm.  Do not put words in my mouth that I have not uttered.