"And I have written so far without a word on the great subject of all,
the joy untold for which our hearts had ached so long, and which we
owe entirely to you, for Edward owns that nothing but your personal
representations would have brought him, and, as I suppose you already
know--he so much hated the whole subject of Maddox's treachery that
he had flung aside, unread, all that he saw related to it. Dear Colin,
whatever else you have done, you have filled a famished heart. Could you
but have seen Ailie's face all last evening as she sat by his side,
you would have felt your reward--it was as if the worn, anxious, almost
stern mask had been taken away, and our Ailie's face was beaming out
as of old when she was the family pet, before Julia took her away to be
finished. She sees no change; she is in an ecstasy of glamour that makes
her constantly repeat her rejoicings that Edward is so much himself, so
unchanged, till I almost feel unsisterly for seeing in him the traces
that these sad years have left, and that poor little Rose herself has
detected. No, he is not so much changed as exaggerated. The living
to himself, and with so cruel a past, has greatly increased the old
dreaminess that we always tried to combat, and he seems less able than
before to turn his mind into any channel but the one immediately before
him. He is most loving when roused, but infinitely more inclined to fall
off into a muse. I am afraid you must have had a troublesome charge in
him, judging by the uproar Harry makes about the difficulty of getting
him safe from Paddington. It is good to see him and Harry together--the
old schoolboy ways are so renewed, all bitterness so entirely forgotten,
only Harry rages a little that he is not more wrapped up in Rose. To say
the truth, so do I; but if it were not for Harry's feeling the same, I
should believe that you had taught me to be exacting about my rosebud.
Partly, it is that he is disappointed that she is not like her mother;
he had made up his mind to another Lucy, and her Williams face took him
by surprise, and, partly, he is not a man to adapt himself to a child.
She must be trained to help unobtrusively in his occupations; the
unknowing little plaything her mother was, she never can be. I am afraid
he will never adapt himself to English life again--his soul seems to be
in his mines, and if as you say he is happy and valued there--though it
is folly to look forward to the wrench again, instead of rejoicing in
the present, gladness; but often as I had fashioned that arrival in my
fancy, it was never that Harry's voice, not yours, should say the 'Here
he is.' "They all went this morning in the waggonette, and the two boys with
Miss Curtis in the carriage. Lady Temple is very kind in coming in and
out to enliven me. I am afraid I must close and send this before their
return. What a day it is! And how are you passing it? I fear, even at
the best, in much anxiety. Lady Temple asks to put in a line.--Yours
ever, E. W."