and lonely man, the best of me having gone.  No one could ever, —­ or shall ever, take the place of my beloved wife in my heart, the remains of which I offer unreservedly to you.  For the sake of my boy I am prepared to sacrifice myself, and I can at least promise you that you shall never regret by any action of mine whatever sacrifice it may entail on your part.  I shall not insult you by the mention of money matters or any such things, for I feel sure that the fact of my being a rich man will make no difference in your decision as to whether or no you will be a mother to my Thomas.

     Yours very sincerely,
     Thomas GLYNNE

Lady Glenburnie’s: 

Dear Betty, —­ If you should be in the North, —­ and why not make a certainty of it? —­ don’t forget us!  A line to say when and where to meet you is all we want, and you will find the warmest of welcomes awaiting you, and your own favorite room in the turret.  Don’t mention nephews or nieces in answering this.

     Your affectionate
     Mary Glenburnie

Brother Archie’s: 

Angel Betty, —­ Help a brother in distress.  I’m desperately in love.  First of all, —­ how long do you suppose it will last?  Forever, I think.  But I can’t live at this pitch for long, and my summer plans depend on it.  She is lovely.  Makes me long to sing hymns on Sunday evenings; you know the kind of thing —­feeling, I should say!  She’s like Pauline, only more beautiful, I think.  I will tell you all about it when we meet.  There are complications.  My first trouble is this:  I have taken a small place in Skye with Coningsby.  Now it is perfectly impossible to live with Con when one is in love; of all the unsympathetic, dried-up old crabs, he is the worst.  Now the question is, can I buy him out?  Have you to stay instead, ask my beloved too, save her from drowning, which in Skye should be easy, and then live happily ever afterwards.  I am consumed with a desire to save her from something.  It is a symptom, I know, but, Betty dear, it is serious this time.  Her eyes look as if they saw into another world, which makes me feel hopeless!  I don’t mind you hinting something about it to Julia, if you should see her.  You needn’t enter into details!

     Yours ever,
     Archie

Of all the letters, Diana’s was the most tempting.

Zerlina’s had no power to lure.  Dear Archie’s little —­ he had so often written the same —­ sort of letters.  Veronica Vokins’ less, and the sad, big Thomas!  What a curious letter!  I hardly knew whether to laugh or to cry.  How careful he was to point out the sacrifice on his part entailed in his offer.  It was hardly flattering to me, except that he refrained from mentioning his worldly goods, or the advantages to me accruing from the bestowal thereof.  I had at least looked unworldly when I had visited the small Thomas in bed; of that I was glad.  And, after all, why should I mind?  It is something, perhaps, to be asked to be a mother to a small fat Thomas.  I wrote, refusing as kindly as I could.  I dare say there are women who would accept the position.  Let us hope, if one be found to do so, that she will not forget the mother part!