A quaint thing has happened to me! Came down here to take over the place, and to say decidedly I would not marry Miss Travers, and I find her with red hair and a skin like milk, and a pair of green eyes that look at you from a forest of black eyelashes with a thousand unsaid challenges. I should not wonder if I commit some folly. One has read of women like this in the _cinque-cento_ time in Italy, but up to now I had never met one. She is not in the room ten minutes before one feels a sense of unrest, and desire for one hardly knows what--principally to touch her, I fancy. Good Lord! what a skin! pure milk and rare roses--and the reddest Cupid's bow of a mouth! You had better come down at once (these things are probably in your line) to save me from some sheer idiocy. The situation is exceptional--she and I practically alone in the house, for old Barton does not count. She had nowhere to go, and as far as I can make out has not a friend in the world. I suppose I ought to leave. I will try to on Monday; but come down to-morrow by the 4.00 train.
Yours,
CHRISTOPHER.
P. S.--'47 port A1, and two or three brands of the old aunt's champagne exceptional, Barton says--we can sample them. Shall send this up by express; you will get it in time for the 4.00 train.
[Footnote 1: A letter from Mr. Carruthers which came into Evangeline'spossession later, and which she put into her journal at thisplace.--EDITOR'S NOTE.]