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.