He was two years out from the east , and had not yet forgotten to be homesick at times . Sidney liked the letter and answered it . Since then they had written to each other regularly . There was nothing sentimental , hinted at or implied , in the correspondence . Whatever the faults of Sidney 's romantic visions were , they did not tend to precocious flirtation . The Plainfield boys , attracted by her beauty and repelled by her indifference and aloofness , could have told that . She never expected to meet John Lincoln , nor did she wish to do so . In the correspondence itself she found her pleasure . John Lincoln wrote breezy accounts of ranch life and adventures on the far western plains , so alien and remote from snug , humdrum Plainfield life that Sidney always had the sensation of crossing a gulf when she opened a letter from the Bar N . As for Sidney 's own letter , this is the way it read as she wrote it : `` The Evergreens , '' Plainfield . Dear Mr. Lincoln : The very best letter I can write in the half-hour before the carriage will be at the door to take me to Mrs. Braddon 's dance shall be yours tonight . I am sitting here in the library arrayed in my smartest , newest , whitest , silkiest gown , with a string of pearls which Uncle James gave me today about my throat -- the dear , glistening , sheeny things ! And I am looking forward to the `` dances and delight '' of the evening with keen anticipation . You asked me in your last letter if I did not sometimes grow weary of my endless round of dances and dinners and social functions . No , no , never ! I enjoy every one of them , every minute of them . I love life and its bloom and brilliancy ; I love meeting new people ; I love the ripple of music , the hum of laughter and conversation . Every morning when I awaken the new day seems to me to be a good fairy who will bring me some beautiful gift of joy . The gift she gave me today was my sunset gallop on my grey mare Lady . The thrill of it is in my veins yet .
I distanced the others who rode XXXXX me and led the homeward canter alone , rocking along a dark , gleaming road , shadowy with tall firs and pines , whose balsam made all the air resinous around me .
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