9 May.
My dearest Lucy,
Forgive my long delay in writing, but I have been simply overwhelmed
with work. The life of an assistant schoolmistress is sometimes trying.
I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk
together freely and build our castles in the air. I have been working
very hard lately, because I want to keep up with Jonathan's studies,
and I have been practicing shorthand very assiduously.
When we are married I shall be able to be useful to Jonathan,
and if I can stenograph well enough I can take down what he wants
to say in this way and write it out for him on the typewriter,
at which also I am practicing very hard.
He and I sometimes write letters in shorthand, and he is keeping
a stenographic journal of his travels abroad. When I am with you
I shall keep a diary in the same way. I don't mean one of those
two-pages-to-the-week-with-Sunday-squeezed-in-a-corner diaries,
but a sort of journal which I can write in whenever I feel inclined.
I do not suppose there will be much of interest to other people, but it
is not intended for them. I may show it to Jonathan some day if there
is in it anything worth sharing, but it is really an exercise book.
I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do, interviewing and writing
descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that,
with a little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one
hears said during a day.
However, we shall see. I will tell you of my little plans when we meet.
I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan from Transylvania.
He is well, and will be returning in about a week. I am longing
to hear all his news. It must be nice to see strange countries.
I wonder if we, I mean Jonathan and I, shall ever see them together.
There is the ten o'clock bell ringing. Goodbye.
Your loving
Mina
Tell me all the news when you write. You have not told me
anything for a long time. I hear rumours, and especially
of a tall, handsome, curly-haired man.???
LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY
17, Chatham Street
Wednesday
My dearest Mina,
I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad correspondent.
I wrote you twice since we parted, and your last letter
was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you.
There is really nothing to interest you.
Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a great deal
to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park.
As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one
who was with me at the last Pop. Someone has evidently
been telling tales.
That was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and Mamma get
on very well together, they have so many things to talk about in common.
We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you
were not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellant parti,
being handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor
and really clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and twenty,
and he has an immense lunatic asylum all under his own care.
Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here to see us,
and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute men I
ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable.
I can fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients.
He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face,
as if trying to read one's thoughts. He tries this on very much
with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack.
I know that from my glass.
Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell
you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you
can well fancy if you have never tried it.
He say that I afford him a curious psychological study,
and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient
interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions.
Dress is a bore. That is slang again, but never mind.
Arthur says that every day.
There, it is all out, Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other
since we were children. We have slept together and eaten together,
and laughed and cried together, and now, though I have spoken,
I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I love him.
I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me,
he has not told me so in words. But, oh, Mina, I love him.
I love him! There, that does me good.
I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing,
as we used to sit, and I would try to tell you what I feel.
I do not know how I am writing this even to you.
I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the letter,
and I don't want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all.
Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think
about it. Mina, pray for my happiness.
Lucy
P.S.--I need not tell you this is a secret. Goodnight again. L.