"Don't torture me, Flora!" I pleaded, "either send me away, or--"

"Stop pestering me ... let's talk ... read me some of that Tennyson you
gave me...." and I began reading aloud, for there was nothing else she
would for the moment, have me do....

* * * * *

"You're a poet," whimsically, "I want you to write some letters to me
because I know you must write beautiful."

"--if you will only let me love you!"

"Well, ain't I lettin' you love me?"

A perverse look came into her face, a thought, an idea that pleased
her--

"I've lots and lots of letters from men," she began, "men that have been
in love with me."

"Oh!" I exclaimed weakly ... she had just expressed a desire to add some
of mine to the pack ... the next thing that she followed up with gave me
a start--

"Your father--"

"My father?--" I echoed.

"He's written me the best letters of all ... wait a minute ... I'll read