"Please tell the Unknown Lady that I have received her love, and am taking care of it. I wish I could run in to visit with her in that rose-grey room. But it wouldn't do at all! Not with my hair! Tell her she must have it done over in blues and browns before I can put in an appearance. The years, thank God, whatever else they take, still leave me my vanity! Give the Princess my love, and ask her if rose-and-grey bedsocks would become her feet. Size, too, please." There's more to it, only if I should quote further you'd grow aware how much I have written her about you, and just what I have said. And that would never do. But you can see for yourself how well brought up I am. Confiding in my maternal parent! Did you know the verses were dedicated to her? No! I will not tell you my dream, nor what the Talisman is hiding from you. If I did, you would lose all interest, for I should no longer be a Man of Mystery! Will you tell an egotistical male just which verse most pleases you? And of course you will let me hear directly you leave the Castle? Yours RICHARD WARREN Please congratulate Peter for me on his aspirations. Tell him that although hoary beyond belief, I too have always yearned to be a Scout--a good one! R. W. THE CASTLE August 15th Monster! How dare you have secrets? Is that not Woman's prerogative? I will not answer any of your questions today, nor, indeed, write to you at all. Instead, I will write to your Mother: Yours indifferently, HER ROYAL HAUGHTINESS (Enclosure) Dear Mother of the Poet: Your son has written me your message. It is lovely of you to understand. And you _do_ understand, do you not, just how much this pleasant pen-and-ink friendship means to me in my restricted world, bound as it is by walls, north and south, east and west. The bedsocks sound beautiful. I have some severe gray ones which always make me feel very plain. But Sarah, who fashioned them, has little imagination. It is dear of you to want to knit for me, and when the cold nights come, I shall welcome your gift! About size three, I should say. Mr. Warren writes me that _The Lyric Hour_ is dedicated to you. I have turned to the page and read it with new eyes. "To the Dearest of All." And I am sure that the poem which is my favorite is your own. It is the one which begins For this, the patience of your Love, The pride which gives me wings. Dearest, my gratitude.... If only I could say it in verse, what a thankful little poem would go to you now! But I can only sign myself, VERY MUCH YOUR DEBTOR NEW YORK CITY August 16th Cruel Princess!