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if one of our own Yankee girls of the best type； haughty and spirituelle；
would be of any comfort to you in your present deplorable condition。 If I
thought so； I would hasten down to the Surf House and catch one for you；
or； better still； I would find you one over the way。
Picture to yourself a large white house just across the road； nearly
opposite our cottage。 It is not a house； but a mansion； built； perhaps； in the
colonial period； with rambling extensions； and gambrel roof； and a wide
piazza on three sidesa self… possessed； high…bred piece of architecture；
with its nose in the air。 It stands back from the road； and has an obsequious
retinue of fringed elms and oaks and weeping willows。 Sometimes in the
morning； and oftener in the afternoon； when the sun has withdrawn from
that part of the mansions； a young woman appears on the piazza with some
mysterious Penelope web of embroidery in her hand； or a book。 There is a
hammock over thereof pineapple fibre； it looks from here。 A hammock is
very becoming when one is eighteen； and has golden hair； and dark eyes；
and an emerald…colored illusion dress looped up after the fashion of a
Dresden china shepherdess； and is chaussee like a belle of the time of
Louis Quatorze。 All this splendor goes into that hammock； and sways
there like a pond…lily in the golden afternoon。 The window of my bedroom
looks down on that piazzaand so do I。
But enough of the nonsense； which ill becomes a sedate young
attorney taking his vacation with an invalid father。 Drop me a line； dear
Jack； and tell me how you really are。 State your case。 Write me a long；
quite letter。 If you are violent or abusive； I'll take the law to you。
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Majorie Daw
CHAPTER III。
JOHN FLEMMING TO EDWARD DELANEY。
August 11； 1872。
Your letter； dear Ned； was a godsend。 Fancy what a fix I am inI； who
never had a day's sickness since I was born。 My left leg weighs three tons。
It is embalmed in spices and smothered in layers of fine linen； like a
mummy。 I can't move。 I haven't moved for five thousand years。 I'm of the
time of Pharaoh。
I lie from morning till night on a lounge； staring into the hot street。
Everybody is out of town enjoying himself。 The brown…stone… front houses
across the street resemble a row of particularly ugly coffins set up on end。
A green mould is settling on the names of the deceased； carved on the
silver door…plates。 Sardonic spiders have sewed up the key…holes。 All is
silence and dust and desolation。 I interrupt this a moment； to take a shy
at Watkins with the second volume of Cesar Birotteau。 Missed him！ I think
I could bring him down with a copy of Sainte…Beuve or the Dictionnaire
Universel； if I had it。 These small Balzac books somehow do not quite fit
my hand； but I shall fetch him yet。 I've an idea that Watkins is tapping the
old gentleman's Chateau Yquem。 Duplicate key of the wine…cellar。
Hibernian swarries in the front basement。 Young Cheops up stairs； snug in
his cerements。 Watkins glides into my chamber； with that colorless；
hypocritical face of his drawn out long like an accordion； but I know he
grins all the way down stairs； and is glad I have broken my leg。 Was not
my evil star in the very zenith when I ran up to town to attend that dinner
at Delmonico's？ I didn't come up altogether for that。 It was partly to buy
Frank Livingstone's roan mare Margot。 And now I shall not be able to sit
in the saddle these two months。 I'll send the mare down to you at The
Pinesis that the name of the place？
Old Dillon fancies that I have something on my mind。 He drives me
wild with lemons。 Lemons for a mind diseased！ Nonsense。 I am only as
restless as the devil under this confinementa thing I'm not used to。 Take a
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Majorie Daw
man who has never had so much as a headache or a toothache in his life；
strap one of his legs in a section of water… spout； keep him in a room in the
city for weeks； with the hot weather turned on； and then expect him to
smile and purr and be happy！ It is preposterous。 I can't be cheerful or
calm。
Your letter is the first consoling thing I have had since my disaster； ten
days ago。 It really cheered me up for half an hour。 Send me a screed； Ned；
as often as you can； if you love me。 Anything will do。 Write me more
about that little girl in the hammock。 That was very pretty； all that about
the Dresden china shepherdess and the pond…lily； the imagery a little
mixed； perhaps； but very pretty。 I didn't suppose you had so much
sentimental furniture in your upper story。 It shows how one may be
familiar for years with the reception…room of his neighbor； and never
suspect what is directly under his mansard。 I supposed your loft stuffed
with dry legal parchments； mortgages； and affidavits； you take down a
package of manuscript； and lo！ there are lyrics and sonnets and
canzonettas。 You really have a graphic descriptive touch； Edward Delaney；
and I suspect you of anonymous love…tales in the magazines。
I shall be a bear until I hear from you again。 Tell me all about your
pretty inconnue across the road。 What is her name？ Who is she？ Who's her
father？ Where's her mother？ Who's her lover？ You cannot imagine how
this will occupy me。 The more trifling； the better。 My imprisonment has
weakened me intellectually to such a degree that I find your epistolary
gifts quite considerable。 I am passing into my second childhood。 In a week
or two I shall take to India rubber rings and prongs of coral。 A silver cup；
with an appropriate inscription； would be a delicate attention on your part。
In the mean time； write！
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Majorie Daw
CHAPTER IV。
EDWARD DELANEY TO JOHN FLEMMING。
August 12； 1872。
The sick pasha shall be amused。 Bismillah！ he wills it so。 If the story…
teller becomes prolix