We are young but once, I told him. After that, what use to signal to
Romance? The lady at least, I said, will understand. He sneered at that.
He shook his silly gray head. I will admit he had me worried. But now
you have justified my faith in you. Thank you a million times for that!
Three weeks I have been in this huge, ungainly, indifferent city,
longing for the States. Three weeks the Agony Column has been my sole
diversion. And then--through the doorway of the Carlton restaurant--you
came-It is of myself that I must write, I know. I will not, then, tell you
what is in my mind--the picture of you I carry. It would mean little
to you. Many Texan gallants, no doubt, have told you the same while the
moon was bright above you and the breeze was softly whispering through
the branches of--the branches of the--of the-Confound it, I don't know! I have never been in Texas. It is a vice in
me I hope soon to correct. All day I intended to look up Texas in the
encyclopedia. But all day I have dwelt in the clouds. And there are no
reference books in the clouds.
Now I am down to earth in my quiet study. Pens, ink and paper are before
me. I must prove myself a person worth knowing.
From his rooms, they say, you can tell much about a man. But,
alas! these peaceful rooms in Adelphi Terrace--I shall not tell the
number--were sublet furnished. So if you could see me now you would be
judging me by the possessions left behind by one Anthony Bartholomew.
There is much dust on them. Judge neither Anthony nor me by that.
Judge rather Walters, the caretaker, who lives in the basement with his
gray-haired wife. Walters was a gardener once, and his whole life is
wrapped up in the courtyard on which my balcony looks down. There he
spends his time, while up above the dust gathers in the corners-Does this picture distress you, my lady? You should see the courtyard!
You would not blame Walters then. It is a sample of Paradise left at
our door--that courtyard. As English as a hedge, as neat, as beautiful.
London is a roar somewhere beyond; between our court and the great city
is a magic gate, forever closed. It was the court that led me to take
these rooms.
And, since you are one who loves mystery, I am going to relate to you
the odd chain of circumstances that brought me here.
For the first link in that chain we must go back to Interlaken. Have
you been there yet? A quiet little town, lying beautiful between two
shimmering lakes, with the great Jungfrau itself for scenery. From the
dining-room of one lucky hotel you may look up at dinner and watch the
old-rose afterglow light the snow-capped mountain. You would not say
then of strawberries: "I hate them." Or of anything else in all the
world.