Tell Stonie
he could beat me bear-hugging any day now. Has Tobe discovered any new
adventure in aromatics lately, and can little Poteet sit up and take
notice? Help, help, I'm getting so homesick that I'm about to cry and
fall into the ink!
"Good night--with all that the expression can imply of moonlight
coming over the head of old Harpeth, pouring down its sides, rippling
out over the corn-fields and flooding over a tall rose girl thing who
stands in the doorway with her 'nesties' all asleep in the dark house
behind her--and if any man were lounging against the honeysuckle vine
getting a last puff out of his cigar I should know it, and a thousand
miles couldn't save him. I'm all waked up thinking about it, and I
could smash--Good night!
M.E.
P.S. I don't think it at all square of you not to let Stonie sell me
the little dogs. Women ought to keep out of business affairs between
men."
And as she turned the last page, slipped it back into place and
promptly began at the beginning of the very first one, Rose Mary's
face was an exquisite study in what might have been entitled pure joy.
Her roses rioted up under her lashes, her rich lips curled like the
half-blown bud between the flower of her cheeks, and her eyes shone
like the two first stars mirrored in a woman's pool of life. Also it
is one of the mysteries of the drama why a woman will scan over and
over pages whose every letter is chiseled inches deep into her heart;
and exactly one-half hour later Rose Mary was still standing
motionless by her table, with the letter outspread in her hand.
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