to be together every instant, no matter what they are doing. Why, if
Oliver went out to men's dinners without me as Mr. Payson does (though
she doesn't seem to mind it) I should just sit at home by myself and cry
my eyes out. I think love, if it is love, ought to be all in all. I am
perfectly sure that if I live to be a hundred I shall never want any
society but Oliver's. He is the whole world to me, and when he is not
here I spend my time, unless I am at work, just sitting and thinking
about him. My one idea is to make him as happy as I can, and when a
woman does this for a man I don't think she has time to run around by
herself as Mrs. Payson does. Tell dearest father that I so often think
of his sermons and the beautiful things he said about women. The rector
here doesn't compare with him as a preacher.

This is such a long letter it will take two stamps. I've just let myself
run on without thinking what I was writing, so if I have made any
mistakes in grammar or in spelling, please don't let father see them but
read my letter aloud to him. I can shut my eyes and see you sitting at
dinner, with Docia bringing in the plum pudding, and I know you will
talk of me while you help to it. Write me who comes to dinner with you.
I wonder if Miss Priscilla and John Henry are there as usual. Do you
know whether John Henry ever goes to the Treadwell's or not? I wish you
would ask him to take Susan to see his old mammy in Pink Alley. Now that
I am not there to go to see her occasionally, I am afraid she will get
lonesome.

Good-bye, dearest mother. I will write to you before New Year. I am so
busy that I don't have time to write every day, but you will understand
and so will father.

With my heart's fondest love to you both,
Your
VIRGINIA.

* * * * *

MATOACA CITY. June 6, 1885.
DARLING MOTHER:

The little patterns were exactly what I wanted--thank you a thousand
times. I knew you would be overjoyed at the news, and you are the only
person I've breathed it to--except, of course, dear Oliver, who is
frightened to death already. He has made me stop everything at once, and
whenever he sees me lift my hand, he begins to get nervous and begs me
not to do it. Oh, mother, he loves me so that it is really pathetic to
see his anxiety. And--can you believe it--he doesn't appear to be the
least bit glad about it. When I told him, he looked amazed--as if he had
never thought of it