I noticed that Mr. Barrie the author (so-called)
and his masterful wife had a letter they wanted to conceal from me, so I
got hold of it, and it turned out to be from you, and _not a line to me
in it_! If you like the book, it is _me_ you like, not him, and it is to
me you should send your love, not to him. Corp thinks, however, that you
did not like to make the first overtures, and if that is the
explanation, I beg herewith to send you my warm love (don't mention this
to Elspeth) and to say that I wish you would come and have a game with
us in the Den (don't let on to Grizel that I invited you). The first
moment I saw you, I said to myself, 'This is the kind I like,' and while
the people round about me were only thinking of your acting, I was
wondering which would be the best way of making you my willing slave,
and I beg to say that I believe I have 'found a way,' for most happily
the very ones I want most to lord it over, are the ones who are least
able to resist me.
"We should have ripping fun. You would be Jean MacGregor, captive in the
Queen's Bower, but I would climb up at the peril of my neck to rescue
you, and you would faint in my strong arms, and wouldn't Grizel get a
turn when she came upon you and me whispering sweet nothings in the
Lovers' Walk? I think it advisible to say _in writing_ that I would only
mean them as nothings (because Grizel is really my one), but so long as
they were sweet, what does that matter (at the time); and besides, _you_
could _love me_ genuinely, and I would carelessly kiss your burning
tears away.
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