It had worked like a Charm. I could tear my hair now when
I think how well it worked. I ought to have been suspicious for
that very reason. When things go very well with me at the start,
it is a sure sign that they are going to blow up eventualy.
Mother and Sis slept late the next morning, and I went out
stealthily and did some shopping. First I bought myself a bunch
of violets, with a white rose in the center, and I printed on
the card:
"My love is like a white, white rose. H." And sent it to
myself.
It was deception, I acknowledge, but having put my hand to
the Plow, I did not intend to steer a crooked course. I would go
straight to the end. I am like that in everything I do. But, on
delibarating things over, I felt that Violets, alone and
unsuported, were not enough. I felt that If I had a photograph,
it would make everything more real. After all, what is a love
affair without a picture of the Beloved Object?
So I bought a photograph. It was hard to find what I
wanted, but I got it at last in a stationer's shop, a young man
in a checked suit with a small mustache--the young man, of
course, not the suit.
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