Dear Miss Power,—Please don’t be angry with this letter, but I can’t help writing it. I can’t think of anything but you, and above all the London traffic, even the motor buses and the W.D. lorries, I hear the music of your lovely Irish voice. I want to say that I worship you and if you care the least little bit about me I am yours at your feet to do as you like with. I haven’t been much of a success so far, but with you to help me and order me about I could do anything. Aunt Verena is buying me a share in a new concern directly, and I am sure she would adore it if you were her niece, though only by marriage. Don’t answer this at once, but give me the benefit of thinking me over from every point of view. Of course you may be engaged already, or you may actively dislike me, and in this case I must ask you to forgive me for writing, but I couldn’t help it. If you could see yourself and hear yourself speak you would understand why.—Your abject admirer,
Roy Barrance
P.S.—Please answer at once and put me out of my misery.