Dracula. Bram Stoker

tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble

      than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He says that

      I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think

      I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to

      be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore. That is

      slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day. There,

      it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other since

      we were children; we have slept together and eaten together, and

      laughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I

      would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn’t you guess? I love

      him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me,

      he has not told me so in words. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love

      him; I love him! There, that does me good. I wish I were with

      you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit; and I

      would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing

      Letters, Etc. 53

      this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the let-

      ter, and I don’t want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all. Let

      me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think about it.

      Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your prayers; and,

      Mina, pray for my happiness.

      «LUCY.

      «P.S. I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night again.

      JL.

      Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.

      «24 May.

      «My dearest Mina,

      «Thanks, and thanks, and thanks again for your sweet letter.

      It was so nice to be able to tell you and to have your sympathy.

      «My dear, it never rains but it pours. How true the old prov-

      erbs are. Here am I, who shall be twenty in September, and yet

      I never had a proposal till to-day, not a real proposal, and to-day

      I have had three. Just fancy! THREE proposals in one day!

      Isn’t it awful! I feel sorry, really and truly sorry, for two of the

      poor fellows. Oh, Mina, I am so happy that I don’t know what

      to do with myself. And three proposals! But, for goodness’ sake,

      don’t tell any of the girls, or they would be getting all sorts of

      extravagant ideas and imagining themselves injured and slighted

      if in their very first day at home they did not get six at least.

      Some girls are so vain! You and I, Mina dear, who are engaged

      and are going to settle down soon soberly into old married wo-

      men, can despise vanity. Well, I must tell you about the three,

      but you must keep it a secret, dear, from every one, except, of

      course, Jonathan. You will tell him, because I would, if I were

      in your place, certainly tell Arthur. A woman ought to tell her

      husband everything don’t you think so, dear? and I must be

      fair. Men like women, certainly their wives, to be quite as fair

      as they are; and women, I am afraid, are not always quite as fair

      as they should be. Well, my dear, number One came just before

      lunch. I told you of him, Dr. John Seward, the lunatic-asylum

      man, with the strong jaw and the good forehead. He was very

      cool outwardly, but was nervous all the same. He had evidently

      been schooling himself as to all sorts of little things, and re-

      membered them; but he almost managed to sit down on his silk

      hat, which men don’t generally do when they are cool, and then

      when he wanted to appear at ease he kept playing with a lancet

      in a way that made me nearly scream. He spoke to me,, Mina,

      54 Dracula

      very straightforwardly. He told me how dear I was to him,

      though he had known me so little, and what his life would be with

      me to help and cheer him. He was going to tell me how unhappy

      he would be if I did not care for him, but when he saw me cry

      he said that he was a brute and would not add to my present

      trouble. Then he broke off and asked if I could. love him in time;

      and when I shook my head his hands trembled, and then with

      some hesitation he asked me if I cared already for any one else.

      He put it very nicely, saying that he did not want to wring my

      confidence from me, but only to know, because if a woman’s

      heart was free a man might have hope. And then, Mina, I felt

      a sort of duty to tell him that there was some one. I only told

      him that much, and then he stood up, and he looked very strong

      and very grave as he took both my hands in his and said he hoped

      I would be happy, and that if I ever wanted a friend I must count

      him one of my best. Oh, Mina dear, I can’t help crying: and you

      must excuse this letter being all blotted. Being proposed to is

      all very nice and all that sort of thing, but it isn’t at all a happy

      thing when you have to see a poor fellow, whom you know

      loves you honestly, going away and looking all broken-hearted,

      and to know that, no matter what he may say at the moment,

      you are passing quite out of his life. My dear, I must stop here

      aL present, I feel so miserable, though I am so happy.

      11 Evening.

      «Arthur has just gone, and I feel in better spirits than when

      I left off, so I can go on telling you about the day. Well, my dear,

      number Two came after lunch. He is such a nice fellow, an Ameri-

      can from Texas, and he looks so youug and so fresh that it seems

      almost impossible that he has been to so many places and has

      had such adventures. I sympathise with poor Desdemona when

      she had such a dangerous stream poured in her ear, even by a

      black man. I suppose that we women are such cowards that we

      think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him. I know

      now what I would do if I were a man and wanted to make a girl

      love me. No, I don’t, for there was Mr. Morris telling us his

      stories, and Arthur never told any, and yet My dear, I am

      somewhat