I have just wired you because I am happier now than I have ever been and I know that we are always going to be happy. You are going to be my ideal Robert, the way that I want you to be, and I am going to love you and make you so happy that you'll always be that way. I knew all along that it was useless for us to make up until you saw things in the right light and realized that there was no cause for jealousy and that my long years of devotion should have proven my love. Until you could see it that way and make up under those conditions, it would only invite more trouble later. There is really nothing more to say, but to let bygones be bygones, live and love each other and make the future everything we want it to be, because love creates everything and made the world. God is love. The little poem you sent, "Loved and Lost," seems very appropriate now for in it you said that before the pearl is gotten, there must be a broken shell. You did have the broken shell, Robert, and now we are going to mend it. I believe that your aim has been high and honest, and now in future it will tell. I can hardly wait to see you, Robert. I want you to come over next Saturday afternoon, and spend Saturday evening and Sunday with me. I want to look into your trusting eyes again and know that you still love me in the same old way. I want to make you know that I have never loved Edward Mason or anyone else, but have always loved and trusted you. With all the love my heart can give, I am Your Marie. P.S. I am enclosing a poem, "The Land of Beginning Again." We are really going to begin again, aren't we, Robert, and be more happy than ever? THE LAND OF BEGINNING AGAIN I wish that there were some wonderful place Called the Land of Beginning Again, Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches And all of our poor, selfish grief Could be dropped, like a shabby old coat, at the door, And never put on again. I wish we could come on it all unaware, Like the hunter who finds a lost trail; And I wish that the one whom our blindness had done The greatest injustice of all Could be at the gates, like an old friend that waits For the comrade he's gladdest to hail. We would find all the things we intended to do But forgot and remembered--too late, Little praises unspoken, little promises broken, And all of the thousand and one Little duties neglected that might have perfected The day for one less fortunate. It wouldn't be possible not to be kind, In the Land of Beginning Again; And the ones we misjudged and the ones whom we grudged Their moments of victory here Would find in the grasp of our loving handclasp More than penitent lips could explain.