“Your father is undoubtedly very angry with Mr. Hardy; and though I believe that his anger may have a slight basis it is altogether excessive. We do not know yet what Mr. Hardy’s limitations of freedom may be. After all, darling, we do not know anything as yet of his circumstances or his surroundings. He may have a thousand calls on his time which we neither know nor understand. For all we can tell he may have a wife already--though this I do not believe or accept for a moment. And you don’t either, my dear! Of course this is all a joke. We _know_ he is free as to marriage, though I don’t believe his heart is--Eh! Puss! But seriously if you ever get a chance tell him to try to be very nice to your father. Old men are often more sensitive in some things that young ones, more sensitive than even we women are supposed to be. So when he does come to see you both--for he _will_ come soon (if he hasn’t come already)--don’t keep him all to yourself, but contrive somehow that your father can have a little chat with him. You needn’t go altogether away you know, my dear. Don’t sit so far away that he can’t see you nor you him (this is a whisper expressed in writing) and I dare say you will like to hear all they say to each other. But if he says a word about seeing your daddy alone for a moment, if he begins to look ill at ease or to get red and then pale and red again, or stammers and clears his throat do you just get up quietly and go out of the room without a word in the most natural way in the world, just as if you were doing some little household duty. I suppose I needn’t tell you this; you know it just as well as I do, though I have known it by experience and you can not. You know how I know it darling though I never told you this part of it. Women are Cowards. _We_ know it though we don’t always say so, and we even disguise it from others now and then. But in such a time as I have mentioned we are _all_ Cowards. We couldn’t stay if we would. We _want_ to get away and hide our heads just as we do when it thunders. But what an awful lot of _rot_ I am talking. When Mr. Hardy and your father meet they will, I am sure, have plenty to talk about without either you or me being the subject of it. They are both sportsmen and fond of horses--and a lot of things. It is only if they don’t meet that I am afraid of. I am writing by the way to Mr. Hardy this post to know where he is at present and where he has been. I shall of course write you when I hear; or if there be anything important I shall wire. We are off to London and it is possible that whilst we are there we may have unexpected meetings with all sorts of friends and calls from them. I hope, darling, that by the time we reach Ambleside we shall find you _blooming_, full of happiness and health and freshness, the very embodiment of your name.”