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 says 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 eachday.
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.
LETTER, LUCY WESTENRA TO MINA MURRAY
24 May
My dearest Mina,
Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter. It
was so nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy. My
dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old proverbs are.
Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet I never had a
proposal till today, not a real proposal, and today I had three.
Just fancy! Three proposals in one day! Isn't it awful! I feel
sorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the poor fellows. Oh,
Mina, I am so happy that I don't know what to do with myself. And
three proposals! But, for goodness' sake, don't tell any of the
girls, or they would be getting all sorts of extravagant ideas, and
imagining themselves injured and slighted if in their very first
day at home they did not get six at least. Some girls are so vain!
You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged and are going to settle down
soon soberly into old married women, can despise vanity. Well, I
must tell you about the three, but you must keep it a secret, dear,
from every one except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him,from every one except, of course, Jonathan. You will tell him,
because I would, if I were in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A
woman ought to tell her husband everything. Don't you think so,
dear? And I must be fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to
be quite as fair as they are. And women, I am afraid, are not
always quite as fair as they should be.
Well, my dear, number One came just before lunch. I told you of
him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic asylum man, with the strong jaw
and the good forehead. He was very cool outwardly, but was nervous
all the same. He had evidently been schooling himself as to all
sorts of little things, and remembered them, but he almost managed
to sit down on his silk hat, which men don't generally do when they
are cool, and then when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing
with a lancet in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me,
Mina, very straightfordwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,
though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with
me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy he
would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry he said
he was a brute and would not add to my present trouble. Then he
broke off and asked if I could love him in time, and when I shook
my head his hands trembled, and then with some hesitation he asked
me if I cared already for any one else. He put it very nicely,
saying that he did not want to wring my confidence from me, but
only to know, because if a woman's heart was free a man might have
hope. And then, Mina, I felt a sort of duty to tell him that there
was some one. I only told him that much, and then he stood up, and
he looked very strong and very grave as he took both my hands in
his and said he hoped I would be happy, and that If I ever wanted a
friend I must count him one of my best.
Oh, Mina dear, I can't help crying, and you must excuse this
letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is all very nice and