with my right arm. He is still suggestive
of the wine-cellar, however. You may break, you may shatter Watkins, if
you will, but the scent of the Roederer will hang round him still.

Ned, that Miss Daw must be a charming person. I should certainly like
her. I like her already. When you spoke in your first letter of seeing
a young girl swinging in a hammock under your chamber window, I was
somehow strangely drawn to her. I cannot account for it in the least.
What you have subsequently written of Miss Daw has strengthened the
impression. You seem to be describing a woman I have known in some
previous state of existence, or dreamed of in this. Upon my word, if you
were to send me her photograph, I believe I should recognize her at a
glance. Her manner, that listening attitude, her traits of character,
as you indicate them, the light hair and the dark eyes--they are all
familiar things to me. Asked a lot of questions, did she? Curious about
me? That is strange.

You would laugh in your sleeve, you wretched old cynic, if you knew how
I lie awake nights, with my gas turned down to a star, thinking of The
Pines and the house across the road. How cool it must be down there! I
long for the salt smell in the air. I picture the colonel smoking his
cheroot on the piazza. I send you and Miss Daw off on afternoon rambles
along the beach. Sometimes I let you stroll with her under the elms in
the moonlight, for you are great friends by this time, I take it, and
see each other every day. I know your ways and your manners! Then I
fall into a truculent mood, and would like to destroy somebody. Have
you noticed anything in the shape of a lover hanging around the colonel
Lares and Penates? Does that lieutenant of the horse-marines or that
young Stillwater parson visit the house much? Not that I am pining for
news of them, but any gossip of the kind would be in order. I wonder,
Ned, you don't fall in love with Miss Daw. I am ripe to do it myself.
Speaking of photographs, couldn't you manage to slip one of her
cartes-de-visite from her album--she must have an album, you know--and
send it to me? I will return it before it could be missed. That's a good
fellow! Did the mare arrive safe and sound? It will be a capital animal
this autumn for Central Park.

Oh--my leg? I forgot about my leg. It's better.

VII.

EDWARD DELANEY TO JOHN FLEMMIMG.

August 20, 1872.

You are correct in your surmises. I am on the most friendly terms with
o