very much the sort of
woman you like, what is called, I believe, "a Woman's Woman," very
humorous, inconsequent and sympathetic and defiled with no offensive
exuberance of good health.

I have nothing more to say, except that you and she have occupied
my mind for the last week to the exclusion of everything else, which
must account for my abstraction, and that in her letter she sent the
following message: "Please tell your mother soon. Tell her I am not
so silly as to expect her to think me good enough, but really I will
try to be."

An aspiration which, considered from my point of view, naturally
provokes a smile.

Here you give me a cup of cocoa. Thank you.

Believe me, my dearest mother,

Always your very affectionate son

GILBERT.

What exactly Gilbert meant by saying they were "not engaged" it is
hard to surmise, in view of Frances's message to her future
mother-in-law. Of his sensations when proposing Gilbert gives some
idea in the _Autobiography:_

It was fortunate, however, that our next most important meeting was
not under the sign of the moon but of the sun. She has often
affirmed, during our later acquaintance, that if the sun had not been
shining to her complete satisfaction on that day, the issue might
have been quite different. It happened in St. James's Park; where
they keep the ducks and the little bridge, which has been mentioned
in no less authoritative a work than Mr. Belloc's Essay on Bridges,
since I find myself quoting that author once more. I think he deals
in some detail, in his best topographical manner, with various
historic sites on the Continent; but later relapses into a larger
manner, somewhat thus: "The time has now come to talk at large about
Bridges. The longest bridge in the world is the Forth Bridge, and the
shortest bridge in the world is a plank over a ditch in the village
of Loudwater. The bridge that frightens you most is the Brooklyn
Bridge, and the bridge that frightens you least is the bridge in St.
James's Park." I admit that I crossed that bridge in undeserved
safety; and perhaps I was affected by my early romantic vision of the
bridge leading to the princess's tower. But I can assure my friend
the author that the bridge in St. James's Park can frighten you a
good deal.*

[* _Autobiography_, pp. 154-5.]

Now, with Frances promised to him, Gilbert could enjoy e