I must say you are unfair to say that I have not been writing to you. I wrote twice since we last saw each other, and your last letter was only the second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is really nothing to interest you. London is very pleasant just now, and we often go to art galleries and for walks and rides in the park. I suppose that the tall, curly-haired man you mention is the man who went to the dance with me. It seems as if someone has been telling you things about me.
His name is Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and my mother get on very well together. They have so many things they like to talk about together. Some time ago we met a man who would be just right for you - except that you are already engaged to Jonathan. This man is excellent - he is handsome, well off, and comes from a respectable family. He is a doctor and really clever.
Just imagine! He is only twenty-nine, and he is in charge of an immense lunatic asylum. After Mr. Holmwood introduced him, he came to visit us. Now he often comes to our house. I think he is one of the calmest men I have ever met. He nothing ever makes him angry or upset. This must be very useful in his work with his patients. He has a strange habit of looking right into one's face. It is as though he is trying to read one's thoughts.
