I'll tell it you when I
come, darling--which I shall do in a fortnight, and we shall be all so
happy. I have such a box ready for you and the chicks, which I shall
bring with me; and some pretty things from Scoutbush beside, who is
very low, poor fellow, I cannot conceive what about: but wonderfully
tender about you. I fancy he must be in love; for he stood up the
other day about you to my aunt, quite solemnly, with, 'Let her alone,
my lady. She's not the first whom love has made a fool of, and she
won't be the last: and I believe that some of the moves which look
most foolish, turn out best after all. Live and let live; everybody
knows his own business best; anything is better than marriage without
real affection.' Conceive my astonishment at hearing the dear little
fellow turn sage in that way!
"By the way, I have had to quote his own advice against him; for I
have refused Lord Chalkclere after all. I told him (C. not S.) that he
was much too good for me: far too perfect and complete a person; that
I preferred a husband whom I could break in for myself, even though he
gave me a little trouble. Scoutbush was cross at first; but he said
afterwards that it was just like Baby Blake (the wretch always calls
me Baby Blake now, after that dreadful girl in Lever's Novel); and I
told him frankly that it was, if he meant that I had sooner break in
a thorough-bred for myself, even though I had a fall or two in the
process, than jog along on the most finished little pony on earth, who
would never go out of an amble.
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