and romantic experiences. She spoke a new language, but they loved it.
Hildegarde, you angel: Crispin has just telephoned, and I am so thrilled I can hardly hold my pen. But I must write. To think that you, too, have run away from Round Hill! And you are going to be married! Crispin didn't tell me all that in words, but his voice told me. He was so happy that he was incoherent. And he had a train to make.
Precious child, may you never regret it! I don't. I am as care-free as a summer cloud, and as domestic as my doll, Sarah. Nothing matters in my young life but Merry. And each day I am falling more in love with him. Which sounds as brazen as a brass band, but it isn't. A wife should love her husband—and I am as meek as they make 'em. Old-fashioned. I really feel that I shouldn't in the least mind Merry's foot on my neck, but I know it will never be there, for he is so gallant and gay and generous—a gentleman, thank God. I've never been quite a lady, mother's daughter couldn't be—not even with my birth and background.
I tell Merry that I'm going to grow old like Sarah—part my hair in the middle and wear caps. He says he doesn't care what I wear, and that he'd rather have me in caps than with my face lifted. But that's a long time off, isn't it? And there are the long years of youth between, and Merry and I are going to make the best of them. Merry thinks he'll go into politics, and I am perfectly sure that I shall make a fortune in raising geese. There are loads of them now on the place—as plump as dumplings and as dignified as dowagers.
