write it I suppose)
without fear of our children being epileptic,
insane, or in any way tainted. If none of them
will do this, I am to inherit Monksmead and part
of the money and you are to have a part of the
money. If we marry _then_, we lose everything and
it goes to Haddon Berners. Mr. Wyllis, who has
been his lawyer and agent for thirty years, is to
take you to Harley Street (presumably to prevent
your bribing and corrupting the whole of the
profession there residing).

"Come at once, Darling. If the silly old
physicians won't certify, why--what _does_ it
matter? I am going to let lodgings at Monksmead to
a Respectable Single Man (with board) and Auntie
Yvette will see that he behaves himself.

"Cable what boat you start by and I'll meet you at
Port Said. I don't know how I keep myself sitting
in this chair. I could turn head over heels for
joy! (And poor Grumper only just buried and his
Will read!) He didn't lose quite all his grim
humour in that wonderful week of softening,
relenting and humanizing. What do you think he
solemnly gave and bequeathed to the poor Haddock?
His _wardrobe_!!! And nothing else, but if the
Haddock wears only Grumper's clothes, including
his boots, shirts, ties, collars and everything
else, for one full and complete year, and wears
absolutely nothing else, he is to have five
thousand pounds at the end of it--and he is to
begin on the day after the funeral! And even at
the last poor Grumper was a foot taller and a foot
broader (not to mention _thicker_) than the
Haddock! It appears that he systematically tried
to poison Grumper's mind against you--presumably
with an eye on this same last Will and Testament.
He hasn't been seen since the funeral. I wonder if
he is going to try to win the money by remaining
in bed for a year in Grumper's pyjamas!

"Am I not developing 'self-control and balance'?
Here I sit writing news to you while my heart is
screaming aloud with joy, crying 'Dam is coming
home. Dam's troubles are over. Dam is saved!'
Because if you are ever so 'ill,' Darling, there
is nothing on earth to prevent your coming to your
old home at once--and if we can't marry we can be
pals for evermore in the dear old place of our
childhood. But of _course_ we can marry. Hurry
home, and if any Harley Street doctor gives you
even a doubtful look, throw him up his own stairs
to show