He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my mirror. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a bad exercise, and gives you more trouble than you can well imagine if you have never tried it. He says that I am a curious psychological study, and I humbly think I am. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in clothing to be able to describe the new fashions. It is a bore. That is slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day.

There, it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other since we were children; we have slept together and eaten together, and laughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn't you guess? I love him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me, he has not told me so in words. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love him; I love him! There, that does me good.

I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the letter, and I don't want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all. Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think about it. Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your prayers; and, Mina, pray for my happiness.

Lucy