My own dearest Eugénie,
As I may probably have my hands full to-morrow morning, before starting on my journey, I will sit up a little later this evening to avoid a scrambling, and consequently shabby letter.
So you thought that I displayed some little artifice in trying to extract an early reply to my last epistle, well, darling, you tell me you wish for a letter on Sunday, and it was quite my intention that you should have one when I last wrote, hence my anxiety to receive one from you before writing, as I hate crossing in the post.
When George left yesterday I got him to take a small parcel, containing a book, just too heavy to go by post, and forward it by rail from London, I should have liked you to receive it on Sunday but I suppose it will either turn up on Saturday or Monday, however I hope my darling will be pleased with it whenever it does come, and accept the trifling present as a token of all true love and affection from one who loves her with an honest love: the book is an old favourite of mine and contains many nice pieces, some day my own Eugénie, not so very many months, my precious one, when we shall own each other by the dearest tie, I shall like to read aloud to you out of it, and look up with pleasure at the dear face, really and truly – not as in fancy now – looking upon me.
I am glad to know you are quite well except a passing cold which I trust will soon be got rid of, perhaps it is out of sympathy but I too have managed to pick up a cold during this damp weather.
I expect to leave here about mid-day tomorrow (Saturday) hope to meet George in London and catch the train, with him, arriving at Sandwich about half-past seven, I must leave again by the last train on Monday, sleep at Paddington and get down here again by the first train Tuesday due about 9.45 A.M. which entails getting up soon after five o’clock in the morning.
I too shall be glad when Whitsuntide is over because my wished for Paris visit will seem much nearer; it makes me so happy to hear you say how you anticipate it, though I know – for you have told me, darling, - that I hold all the confidence of your warm loving heart.
I am glad you have heard again from Fred, it is not very often that I look down the column of births in “the Times” but curiously enough this morning I caught the name at a glance, perhaps it will be more satisfactory that he should send his wife and children home till things are more settled.
I hope you had a pleasant gathering at dinner yesterday, I suppose the Whitneys leave next week you must try and not feel dull, my dear Eugénie, for my sake, wont’ you?
I shall take your photograph, (the last one) the little Easter card, and the letter received today with me, that I may have something to look at, but the idea of your telling me not to forget you! as if that were possible! the little lock of hair that I cut off myself is always with me, and sometimes I like to press it to my lips and feel that I am touching something belonging to my own darling girl!
I hope you will not think me neglectful in not sending you an attempt – for, mark, I am positively unable to get further – at some lines of my own composition, but I have hardly had any time alone since George has been here, when I come back I will try what I can do only because you ask it.
I shall think of you very, very much on Sunday, yes, and talk of you too with those who know and love you; the festival of Whit Sunday will make me look back upon Easter, that good Easter Sunday, darling, will it make you happier, Eugénie, to know that if my Mother or Charlotte are there (as is almost certain) I will not fail to attend the most solemn part of the service on Sunday, I think it will, and that is why I tell you, perhaps I shall then feel almost as near you as when we knelt together in the little church at Paris.
Good night my darling.
God bless you, together with yours in all true love