Branches Park, Thursday Night, November 31
Dear Bob,—
A quaint thing has happened to me! Came down here to take over the place, and to say decidedly I would not marry Miss Travers, and I find her with red hair and a skin like milk, and a pair of green eyes that look at you from a forest of black eyelashes with a thousand unsaid challenges. 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.
Notes
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.