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I have conceled under the mattress a real photograph of him, beneath which he has written, "Yours always, Adrian Egleston." I am writing in bed, as the room is chilley or I am and by putting out my hand I can touch His pictured likeness. Jane came around for me this afternoon, and mother consented to a walk.
He was, at the moment, toying with the bowl of roses. He took one out, and while the Leading Lady was talking, he eged his way toward my box. There, standing very close, aparently by accident, he droped the rose into my lap. Oh Dairy! Dairy! I picked it up, and holding it close to me, I flew. I am now in bed and rather chilley.
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