My dear Cornelia

You and I have discovered many little differences of opinion; but we have always had so much in common, so many tastes and quite elementary convictions, that, years and years ago, I tried to persuade you that we ought to take a stand together. On that point we failed to reach an agreement; and which of us was right is a question that you have never since been willing to debate with me.

There is another point, however, which I have long desired to discuss with you: that is our common liking for dedicated things. I wish to dedicate this little book to you—my share in it. The task embarrasses me; for, wherever in these pages I find anything that seems to me blithe or charming or wise, instantly I recognize that it is not mine but yours. Here then, in justice, I restore to you these feebly recorded memories of our walks and talks in sunlight and moonlight.

While I am confessing, I will tell you what perhaps I haven’t mentioned before, that it was Mr. M. A. De Wolfe Howe who urged me to draw you into our conversation on religion. And I really ought to mention Mr. Ellery Sedgwick; but, the fact is, I have been just a bit jealous of him since he sent that telegram—I showed it to you, did I not?—shortly after he made your acquaintance, saying, “I am desperately in love with Cornelia.”

Of course I don’t mind your being admired, afar off, by anyone who pleases, no matter how dangerous he may be at close range; but this page, you must understand, exists only to record that I am

Ever faithfully yours, S.