CLXV
Roy Barrance to His Sister Hazel
Blow the cymbals, bang the fife, I’m so bucked I don’t know what to do. I’m engaged to the sweetest creature you ever saw or dreamed of—Clemency’s sister Pat. You see, Clemency gave me a letter of introduction to her people, and the fish took such a dislike to me that one day I got a car and went over to see them. They’ve got a jolly place not far from Kenmare—the post office is at Sneem—and the old lady, who’s not old at all and no end of a sport, and her two other daughters, Patricia and Adela, live there, all among little cows and chickens and bamboos and tropical plants. You see, the Gulf Stream comes in here and makes delicate things grow like the very devil. Clemency is a peach, but you should see Pat, and, even more, you should hear her! Clemency’s voice laid me out flat enough, but Pat’s is even more disastrous, begorra! You should hear her say “I will” where you and I and other dull English people would say “Yes,” or “I will not” when we should say “No,” or “I won’t.” The word “will” as she says it is like something on a lovely flute. She’s younger than I am too. I think a husband should be older than his wife. Clemency was just the other side, you know. Anyway, she has said “I will” to me, and the old lady is agreeable provided I can show some signs of responsibility and so I am bucketing back on Sunday to begin work in earnest and be worthy of her.
It’s wonderful how everything works out for you when you let it. I go cold when I think of how awful it would be to marry Clemency and then meet this angel-pet. I should probably have seen her first as a bridesmaid, and then—but it won’t bear thinking about. The Fates sent Field down to Kington just in time. I am coming back next week to go seriously into this motor transport affair that Aunt Verena is helping to finance for me, and as soon as it gets started I’ll begin to arrange to marry. No man is worth a damn till he’s married. With Pat to help I could do what that old Greek johnny was going to do with a fulcrum or something—move the earth. Cheerio!—Yours,
Roy
P.S.—Why don’t you find some decent fellow, Hazel? There’s nothing like it.