Which reminds me—that book on Staffordshire Pottery will never be written. How will you explain it to your partners, and the wasted expense of the illustrations? I shall send you a business letter withdrawing; then I suppose you will say that you had better run down and discuss the matter with me. But, oh! it’s so wonderful to know that you, you yourself will know without any explaining that I cannot write about pottery just now. I _have_ written a few verses. I will send them to you when they are polished and the rhythm is perfect. There will be little else left by then! Write and tell me that one day you will come again to Pineland. One day, but not yet. I could not bear it, not to think of you concretely here with me again, this week or next. I want you as a light in the distance, my eyes are too weak to see you more closely.... I won’t even erase that, although it will hurt you. Sometimes I feel I am not going to bring you happiness, only drain you of sympathy. MARGARET. Church Row, Hampstead. _My dear, dear love, you wonderful, wonderful Margaret:_— I wish I could tell you, I wish I could begin to tell you all you mean to me, what our two days together meant to me. You ask me what I am thinking of you. If only I could let you know that, you would know everything. For your sufferings I love you, for your crucified gift and agonies. You say I am to love you better and differently than any man has ever loved woman. My angel child, I do. Can’t you feel it? Tell me you do. That is all I want, that you tell me you do know how I worship you, that it means something to you, helps you a little.