of my life; and every unkindness received from my own house makes me
press nearer to the tenderest and noblest of human hearts _proved_ by
the uninterrupted devotion of nearly five years. Husband, lover,
nurse--not one of these, has Robert been to me, but all three together.
I neither regret my marriage, therefore, nor the manner of it, because
the manner of it was a necessity of the act. I thought so at the time, I
think so now; and I believe that the world in general will decide (if
the world is to be really appealed to) that my opinion upon this subject
(after five years) is worth more.

Dearest Mrs. Martin, do write to me. I keep my thoughts as far as I can
from bitter things, and the affectionateness of my dearest sisters is
indeed much on the other side. Also, we are both giddy with the kind
attentions pressed on us from every side, from some of the best in
England. It's hard to think at all in such a confusion. We met Tennyson
(the Laureate) by a chance in Paris, who insisted that we should take
possession of his house and servants at Twickenham and use them as long
as we liked to stay in England. Nothing could be more warmly kind, and
we accepted the note in which he gave us the right of possession for the
sake of the generous autograph, though we never intended in our own
minds to act out the proposition. Since then, Mr. Arnould, the Chancery
barrister, has begged us to go and live in his town house (we don't want
houses, you see); Mrs. Fanny Kemble called on and left us tickets for
her Shakespeare reading (by the way, I was charmed with her 'Hamlet');
Mr. Forster, of the 'Examiner,' gave us a magnificent dinner at Thames
Ditton in sight of the swans; and we breakfast on Saturday with Mr.
Rogers. Then we have seen the Literary Guild actors at the Hanover
Square rooms, and we have passed an evening with Carlyle (one of the
great sights in England, to my mind). He is a very warm friend of
Robert's, so that on every account I was delighted to see him face to