March 18 Sunday – At 21 Fifth Ave, N.Y. Sam wrote to Gertrude Natkin, who, upon learning from Isabel Lyon that Sam was in bed with a cold, had sent flowers.
Aren’t you dear! Aren’t you the dearest child there is? To think to send me those lovely flowers, you sweet little Marjorie. Marjorie! don’t get any older—I can’t have it. Stay always just as you are—youth is the golden time.
Miss Lyon came up & arranged the flowers for me, & they certainly do look like you. Consequently they are very acceptable company. I was writing a short article on the Carnegie Spelling-Reform, to put in the time, but I have finished it now.
Miss Lyon brought me your messages from the telephone, & I was very glad to have them, Marjorie dear. To-morrow, or next day I can leave this bed, then I can talk to you myself. No, to your shadow—for that is all a telephone can furnish of you. It makes you vague & unreal; & the voice is somebody else’s & unfamiliar. / Good-night (blot) & sleep well, you dear little rascal! [MTAq 21].
Isabel Lyon’s journal:
A busy but flighty morning. I have no time for reading in all these flying months. Perhaps I’m discouraged from attempting anything more felicitous by the great horror left by “The House of Mirth”. It isn’t possible for me to read it. I’ve made 3 attempts, only to dash it aside full of pain over its dreadfulness.
Today Mr. Elliott drifted in for tea & then Dr. Hunt came full of Vienna recollections which he & Jean exchanged & when Langdon Warner came in & stayed for dinner at Jean’s invitation, to meet Barry Faulkner who was coming.
Tonight Mr. Clemens began to have sore throat, and at midnight Dr. Green came in to give him a treatment. It relieved him & our minds too when he said he felt better [MTP TS 53]. Note: House of Mirth by Edith Wharton (1905). See Gribben 758. A large “X” was drawn through the last two paragraphs.
Aren’t you dear! Aren’t you the dearest child there is? To think to send me those lovely flowers, you sweet little Marjorie. Marjorie! don’t get any older—I can’t have it. Stay always just as you are—youth is the golden time.
Miss Lyon came up & arranged the flowers for me, & they certainly do look like you. Consequently they are very acceptable company. I was writing a short article on the Carnegie Spelling-Reform, to put in the time, but I have finished it now.
Miss Lyon brought me your messages from the telephone, & I was very glad to have them, Marjorie dear. To-morrow, or next day I can leave this bed, then I can talk to you myself. No, to your shadow—for that is all a telephone can furnish of you. It makes you vague & unreal; & the voice is somebody else’s & unfamiliar. / Good-night (blot) & sleep well, you dear little rascal! [MTAq 21].
Isabel Lyon’s journal:
A busy but flighty morning. I have no time for reading in all these flying months. Perhaps I’m discouraged from attempting anything more felicitous by the great horror left by “The House of Mirth”. It isn’t possible for me to read it. I’ve made 3 attempts, only to dash it aside full of pain over its dreadfulness.
Today Mr. Elliott drifted in for tea & then Dr. Hunt came full of Vienna recollections which he & Jean exchanged & when Langdon Warner came in & stayed for dinner at Jean’s invitation, to meet Barry Faulkner who was coming.
Tonight Mr. Clemens began to have sore throat, and at midnight Dr. Green came in to give him a treatment. It relieved him & our minds too when he said he felt better [MTP TS 53]. Note: House of Mirth by Edith Wharton (1905). See Gribben 758. A large “X” was drawn through the last two paragraphs.
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