[c/o Revd J. C. Perkins, 90 Commonwealth Ave., Boston]
Letter 22
I was more happy and relieved than I can tell you to receive your two last letters from Grand Manan, the 15 and the 25 of November simultaneously. I was rather glad that the first was delayed so as to arrive with the other, because, in spite of your cable, I should have been distressed at reading of the long period when no letters arrived. I hope that my Christmas cable arrived in due time: I thought of sending another, for New Year’s Day, to let you know of the receipt of these letters; but I understand that so many cables were being sent this year that there might be considerable delay, and it did not seem right to add to the volume with which the post office and the censors have to cope.
I am also glad to see your handwriting gradually returning to normal. We must expect, I fear, that letters will be very slow for some time to come, though three weeks for sea mail no longer seems surprising, in view of some of the delays I have heard of. My writing to Boston was due to a doubt whether you would find Grand Manan the right place, and might leave earlier than you expected.
To say that your second letter made me happy does not seem quite the right expression, except in so far as one means by happiness the best that is possible in the circumstances. There are things that one will say in a letter when there is a definite prospect of meeting in the future at some probable date, even when it may be a year ahead; butHale, EmilyTSE's love for;x2apparently undimmed but dwarfed by war;e4, especially at the beginning of the war, which I felt would probably be a long one – with the prospect of increasing restriction of movement, and knowing also that I should not feel easy in conscience in leaving England for any time unless in some public service, I was apprehensive of creating, or increasing, any misunderstanding which only conversation could clear up. On the deepest level, as you should know, my feelings remain always unchanged. But the sense of happiness (on balance) and pride, and of all the benefits reaped, has to be felt to be to some degree mutual; and when one fears that they have been only on one’s own side, the fountain dries and the flowers fade and one suspects that it has all been an illusion. The worst nightmare is that in which it appears that what one had thought was give and take (not that this quantitive, measuring way of putting it is at all adequate) was all taking and no giving, or giving of something which was not the best thing or the thing wanted. But in any case, you must be sure of my love, which no change of aging or maturing can alter.
I am so glad to know you have made up a little weight!