[Postmark: May 16, 1846]
Not even do you yawn in vain then, O you ! And
this, then, is what Cicero called ‘ oscitans sapientia ? ‘ The
argument of the yawn ought in fact, to be conclusive. !
But, dearest, if it was ‘ intolerable ‘ to see you yawn
yesterday, still less supportable was it to-day when I had all
the yawning to myself, and proved nothing by it. Tired I
am beyond your conceiving of . . tired ! You saw how I
broke off in my letter to you this morning. Well — that was
Miss Heaton, who came yesterday and left the packet you
saw, and came again to-day and sate here exactly three hours.
Now imagine that ! Three hours of incessant restless
talking. At the end I was blanched, as everybody could see,
and Mrs. Jameson who came afterwards for five minutes
and was too unwell herself to stay, seriously exhorted me
not to exert myself too much lest I should pay the penalty.
And I had not been down-stairs even — only been ground
down in the talking-mill. Arabel told her too, before she
came up-stairs, that I was expecting a friend — ‘ Oh ‘ . . said
she to me, ‘ I shall go away directly anyone comes.’ And
again presently . . ‘ Pray tell me when I ought to go away ‘ !
(As if I could say Go. She deserved it, but I couldn’t !)
And then . . ‘ How good of you to let me sit here and talk ! ‘
So good of me, when I was wishing her . . only at Leeds in
the High Street, between a dissenter and a churchman —
anywhere but opposite to my eyes ! Yet she has very bright
ones, and cheeks redder than your roses ; and she is kind
and cordial … as I thought in the anguish of my soul,
when I tried to be grateful to her. Certainly I should have
been more so, if she had stayed a little less, talked a little
less — it is awful to think how some women can talk !
Happily she leaves London to-morrow morning, and will not
be here again till next year, if then. She talked biography
too … ah, I did not mean to tell you — but it is better to
tell you at once and have done . . only she desired me not
to mention it . . only she little knew what she was doing !
You will not mention it. She told me that ‘ her informant
about Mr. Browning, . . was a lady to whom he had been
engaged . . that there had been a very strong attachment on
both sides, but that everything was broken off by her on the
ground of religious differences — that it happened years ago
and that the lady was married.’ At first I exclaimed im-
prudently enough (but how could it be otherwise ?) that it
was not true — but I caught at the bridle in a minute or two
and let her have it her own way. Do not answer this — it
is nonsense, I know — but it helped to tire me with the rest.
Wasn’t it a delightful day for me ? At the end of the three
hours, she threw her arms round me and kissed me some
half dozen times and wished me ‘ goodbye ‘ till next year.
Wilson found me standing in the middle of the room, look-
ing as she said, ‘ like a ghost.’ And no wonder ! The
‘ vile wind ‘ out of doors was nothing to it.
Dearest, you are well ? Your letter says nothing. Only
one more letter, and then Monday. Ah — it is the sweetest
of flattery to say that you ‘ need ‘ me — but isn’t it difficult
to understand ? Yet while you even fancy that you have
such a need, you may be sure (let Charles Fox break his
promises ever so ! ) of your own
Ba
{1846|} {AND|} {Elizabeth|} {Barrett|} {Barrett|} {157|}