Saturday Morning.
March 21, 1846.
Dearest, – – it just strikes me that I might by some chance be kept in town this morning – – (having to go to Milnes’ breakfast there) – – so as not to find the note I venture to expect, in time for an answer by our last post to-night. But I will try – – this only is a precaution against the possibility. Dear, dear Ba! I cannot thank you, know not how to thank you for the notes! I adopt every one, of course, not as Ba’s notes but as Miss Barrett’s, not as Miss Barrett’s but as anybody’s, everybody’s – – such incontestable improvements they suggest. When shall I tell you more . . . on Monday or Tuesday? That I must know – – because you appointed Monday, ‘if nothing happened – – ‘ and Mr. K. happened – – can you let me hear by our early post to-morrow – – as on Monday I am to be with Moxon early, you know – – and no letters arrive before 11-1/2 or 12. I was not very well yesterday, but to-day am much better – – and you, – – I say how I am precisely to have a double right to know all about you, dearest, in this snow and cold! How do you bear it? And Mr. K. spoke of ‘that being your worst day.’ Oh, dear dearest Ba, remember how I live in you – – on the hopes, with the memory of you. Bless you ever!
R.