[Postmark: September 1, 1846]
Dearest, when your letter kept away, all this morning, I never once fancied you might be angry . . I knew you must feel the love which produced the fear. And I will lay to my heart the little, gentlest blame that there is, in the spirit which dictated it. I know, my own Ba, your words have given me the right to doubt nothing from your generosity – but it is not the mere bidding . . no, at the thousandth repetition – which can make me help myself to all that treasure which you please to call mine : I shall perhaps get used to the generosity and readier to profit by it.
I have not time to write much ; all is divinely kind of you, and I love you for forgiving me.
You could not leave at an early hour under those circumstances . . the moment I become aware of them, I fully see that.
Ah, but, Ba, am I so to blame for not taking your diamonds, while you disclaim a right over my pebbles even ? May I ‘ withdraw from the business ‘ ? &c., &c.
Kiss me, and do not say that again – and I will say you are ‘ my own,’ as I always say, – my very own !
As for ‘ sarcasms ‘ and the rest – I shall hardly do other than despise what will never be said to me, for the best of reasons – except where is to be exception. I never objected to such miserable work as that – and the other day, my annoyance was not at anything which might be fancied, by Mr. Kenyon or anybody else, but at what could not but be plainly seen – it was a fact, and not a fancy, that our visit was shortened &c., &c.
All which is foolish to think of – I will think of you and a better time.
You do not tell me how you are, Ba – and I left you with a headache. Will you tell me ? And the post may come in earlier to-morrow, – at all events I will write at length . . not in this haste. And our day ? When before have I been without a day, a fixed day, to look forward to?
Bless you, my dearest beloved –
Your own R.
I am pretty well to-day – not too well. My mother is no better than usual ; we blame the wind, with or without reason. See this scrawl ! Could anything make me write legibly, I wonder?
Ba.
BA.
βα.
Ba, Ba, Ba.