(You must still let me call you mine, even though this Yankee ogre is going to run away with you)—How to congratulate you on the splendid news which has just been broadcasted here? I assure you, nobody talks of anything else. Bertha was in here yesterday, and she positively raved about you. We are all so glad that you are bringing your tame bear back to England with you, and look forward with tremendous excitement to the day when you will exhibit him. I do most earnestly hope that you will be happy: I’m sure you deserve to be; one gives up so much, does one not, in tying oneself up to a stranger for years and years like that. I believe marriage will be good for you, because from having no brothers or sisters you’ve had a very easy life up to now, and it must be difficult for you to sympathize with all the unhappiness there is in the world. Now you’ve taken your coat off and come into the ring with the rest of us: more strength to your arm! You’ll find men are more intolerable the more you get to know them; hopelessly selfish, and quite without manners. The only thing to do with them, my dear, is to disregard them. “Think only of thyself,” I was reading the other day in a perfectly fascinating Arabian philosopher: “think only of thyself, and nothing that happens to others will be able to violate thy peace of mind”—I thought that so wonderful, especially as the philosopher (I’ve forgotten his name) was unmarried, you know. The great thing is, I’m sure, to get all the enjoyment you can out of your romance while it lasts. Simply forget that the future must bring disillusionment, and plunge yourself in your happiness. And whenever trouble does come, be sure you come straight to me and let me hear all about it: I’ve not lived forty years for nothing! Once again, my sweet Opal, all my best wishes to you. I will tell you my own news when you get home. Your unhappy friend, CYNTHIA The very first thing I had done after getting over the first shock of happiness about my engagement was to wireless the news to Juliet Savage and ask her to be my best woman. Her answer was full of her usual good spirits and infectious optimism: GINGER, YOU ANGEL,—