BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, [4 APR. 1911]
BRACERS 17074. ALS. Morrell papers #18, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell and A.G. Bone

More’s Garden
<London>
Tuesday night1^, 2

My Dearest

I haven’t had a moment for writing all day. The telephone was difficult, partly because there was a noise going on which made it difficult to hear anything, partly because the servants could hear all I said, soa that I had to be brisk and businesslike. It was a joy to hear your voice, but I was vexed at having to answer so curtly and drily. — I think it was perhaps a mistake meeting Philip, tho’ we only faced each other across a wide space. I did not dare to look at him, but he seemed upset, and went out as soon as he could. I have no feeling but what is kind towards him, but I cannot forego what makes him unhappy, tho’ if at any time you decide to, I shall acquiesce without bitterness — at least I think so. Mrs Whitehead was alarmed by his looks, and would feel easier in her mind if I didn’t go to your house tomorrow — she seems to expect him to return unexpectedly. I can’t say I saw anything alarming, but as I said I didn’t venture to look at him much. So if I don’t hear from you to the contrary, I shall come at three tomorrow afternoon. Otherwise the Chenil Gallery is quite feasible for me, or would Miss Sands let us come to her house? I forget her address. I do want to be with you in some place where we can be alone — it would be very trying if we could not manage that. It is quite impossible for you to come here — it is a purely bachelor establishment, not a hotel, and I know several of the people who live here. I think it will be a good plan for me to acquire some pied à terre of my own in London, where you could come — otherwise things are too difficult. I am tired with all the dangers that Mrs Whitehead has been making me face. My instinct says, ignore them — but as they all culminate in utter misery for you, I can hardly do that. Dearest, I feel as if I could not think any more until I see you. I do so long for you. Thank you a thousand times for the letter I got this morning. I knew what your answer would be, but I felt I should have an easier mind if I did not keep back what might come into my thoughts. — O my heart, I must not ruin your life, and yet I may so easily do so. I do not know how I would face life without you, but it would be less terrible than destroying your inward peace. I am tired and anxious, and I find it all but impossible to think for the future. My instinct is to march on fate, whatever it may be. But that is selfish. I do doubt if it is wise to come to your house — he might easily know I had been there, which would increase his burden. But of course you can judge of this much better than I can. Jealousy is a very terrible thing — I once came very near to committing murder through jealousy — that was why I so much feared a situation which might rouse it in me. But I find that having conquered it once, I need not fear it now. But Philip has probably never learnt to deal with it. Perhaps I only have the nightmare of fatigue and anxiety — seeing him was very trying. Let me have an express letter tomorrow morning if you can — it is better than the telephone with every one hearing all that is said. O my love, my love, I long for you — I long for your arms and for the peace you give me. But I must not ruin your life, and I feel you would let me do so without foreseeing all that was happening. Goodnight, my soul — I love you, I love you, every day more and more and more. I don’t idealize you — there is no need. But I love you absolutely, with all that is best in me — and what is best for you I can do, if I know what it is, however difficult it may be. Ottoline, I am yours, yours, in every thought, in every breath.

B.

• 1

  [document] Document 000018. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

• 2

  [envelope] A circled “18”. The Lady Ottoline Morrell | 44 Bedford Square | W.C. | Pmk: LONDON.S.W | APL 5 11A | 4. AM

Textual Notes

• a

  so written over obliterated word