III
Richard Haven to Verena Raby
Dearest Verena, your letter—or rather Mrs. Carlyon’s, containing your bad news—gave me a shock. Do you really mean to say you will have to lie up for months—flat and helpless? This is terrible for you—and for us. Of course I shall come and see you as soon as may be; but it can’t be yet. Why do you live so far away? And I will write, but if you cannot use your hands you must get either Mrs. Carlyon or Nesta (if she is there) to answer a number of questions at once. (I am glad Nesta is coming.)
(a) Can you use your hands?
(b) Does it tire you too much to read?
(c) Have you much or any pain?
(d) What can I do for you first?
(e) Have you a library subscription?
(f) Is there anyone in the neighbourhood who can read aloud, endurably?
(g) (Don’t worry: you are not to have the whole alphabet.) Do games of solitaire appeal to you?
I want you to think of me as your Universal Provider and to express your needs without any reserve. For what else am I useful? Consider me, in short, as a Callisthenes whose motto is “Deeds not Words.”—Yours,
R. H.
P.S.—(h) Have you a gramophone? And if not, does the idea of a gramophone repel or attract?
P.S. 2.—Dearest Verena, I hate it that you should be ill—you who live normally a hundred minutes to the hour. But if there is no heritage of weakness you will be all the better for the enforced rest. That I intend to think and believe.
P.S. 3.—Yours, again and always,
R. H.