BR TO OTTOLINE MORRELL, 29 SEPT. 1911
BRACERS 17284. ALS. Morrell papers #202, Texas
Proofread by K. Blackwell et al.

<London>
Ivanhoe Hotel1^, 2
29. Sep. 1911.

My Darling

My Uncle and Aunt have gone to their virtuous bed, and left me to freedom. I have been twice past Bedford Square, which looks very deserted — no sign of life beyond a dim light in the basement. Nevertheless there is a sort of pleasure in being in the neighbourhood. — I really don’t think your relations can be worse than mine. Mine make virtue stink. They are so full of it, and so hopelessly ineffective. We dined at 6.30 — they were incredibly the country cousins, quite helpless in the hands of the waiters, yet feeling they ought to assert themselves somehow. Usually I can’t stand my aunt Gertrude, but I was sorry for her tonight, she was so helpless and yet wanting to spare my uncle, who has absolutely no power of decision. I may now tell you (tho’ it will have to be news to you when you hear it from elsewhere) that my uncle’s son Arthur (by his first wife) is engaged to Miss Aranyi, the one who wrote to you, not Jeli (or however her name is spelt). I should think she is much too good for him. My Aunt, who is very possessive, is jealous and spiteful, under a cloak of saintliness. She tells me she found faults in Miss Aranyi in speaking to Arthur, and that Arthur is vexed. I think it would be a blessing if he broke with his step-mother. She leaves no one any initiative or will-power if she can help it, but order everything for their good. When my uncle had blood-poisoning, she refused to think there was anything the matter, so he lost his leg and very nearly his life. — It was a funny show at the Passmore Edwards tonight. Everybody so earnest and good and useless. Very appropriately poor Michael Sadlera was in the Chair. The Persian prophet himself pleased me: a great big beard, turban, tunic, a habit of sitting absolutely still, like some animals in the Zoo, with occasional large free gestures. He obviously loathed the whole business and the fuss and the ceremony; kept his head rather down and looked out fiercely under big eyebrows. He spoke and prayed in Persian, intoning the prayer in a nasal sing-song like a Roman Catholic priest. But everybody else was terrible. Mrs Humpy was attended to from the platform as “that gracious lady to whom this Hall owes its being”. I wonder if Arnold Ward regards it as his half-brother; I am afraid its paternity is not legitimate but must be ascribed to Passmore Edwards.

I am afraid I am writing great nonsense, but so much earnest ineffectiveness got on my nerves. It reminds me of what I lived with at home in old days. I used to swear to myself that I would not waste my days that way.

The business about Tripoli is very bad. Really the Powers are no better than they were in the 18th century. It seems to me also very stupid on the part of Italy.

If you wrote to Steep I shall get your letter tomorrow morning as I telegraphed to have letters forwarded. It is painful having a whole day without letters from you, but it is my fault. I wonder how you are and what is happening to you. I hope Prisons will reach you safely. — Now I must go to bed. Goodnight my Darling. I long for you.

Your loving
B.

• 1

  [document] Document 000202. Proofread against a colour scan of the original.

• 2

  [envelope] A circled “202”.

Textual Notes

• a

  Sadler before deleted himself