And finally Mrs.Wilcox reappears,trail,trail,still smelling hay and looking at the flowers.I inflict all this on you because once you said that life is sometimes life and sometimes only a drama,and one must learn to distinguish t'other from which,and up to now I have always put that down as 'Meg's clever nonsense.'But this morning,it really does seem not life but a play,and it did amuse me enormously to watch the W's.
Now Mrs.Wilcox has come in.
I am going to wear [omission].Last night Mrs.Wilcox wore an [omission],and Evie [omission].So it isn't exactly a go-as-you-please place,and if you shut your eyes it still seems the wiggly hotel that we expected.Not if you open them.
The dog-roses are too sweet.There is a great hedge of them over the lawn--magnificently tall,so that they fall down in garlands,and nice and thin at the bottom,so that you can see ducks through it and a cow.
These belong to the farm,which is the only house near us.There goes the breakfast gong.Much love.Modified love to Tibby.
Love to Aunt Juley;how good of her to come and keep you company,but what a bore.Burn this.Will write again Thursday.Helen Howards End,Friday.Dearest Meg,I am having a glorious time.I like them all.Mrs.Wilcox,if quieter than in Germany,is sweeter than ever,and I never saw anything like her steady unselfishness,and the best of it is that the others do not take advantage of her.They are the very happiest,jolliest family that you can imagine.I do really feel that we are making friends.The fun of it is that they think me a noodle,and say so--at least Mr.Wilcox does--and when that happens,and one doesn't mind,it's a pretty sure test,isn't it?He says the most horrid things about women's suffrage so nicely,and when I said I believed in equality he just folded his arms and gave me such a setting down as I've never had.Meg,shall we ever learn to talk less?
I never felt so ashamed of myself in my life.I couldn't point to a time when men had been equal,nor even to a time when the wish to be equal had made them happier in other ways.I couldn't say a word.
I had just picked up the notion that equality is good from some book--probably from poetry,or you.Anyhow,it's been knocked into pieces,and,like all people who are really strong,Mr.Wilcox did it without hurting me.On the other hand,I laugh at them for catching hay fever.
We live like fighting-cocks,and Charles takes us out every day in the motor--a tomb with trees in it,a hermit's house,a wonderful road that was made by the Kings of Mercia--tennis--a cricket match--bridge--and at night we squeeze up in this lovely house.The whole clan's here now--it's like a rabbit warren.Evie is a dear.They want me to stop over Sunday--I suppose it won't matter if I do.Marvellous weather and the view's marvellous--views westward to the high ground.Thank you for your letter.Burn this.Your affectionate Helen Howards End,Sunday.Dearest,dearest Meg,--I do not know what you will say:Paul and I are in love--the younger son who only came here Wednesday.
