I am horror-stricken at what I have done! When I began this
correspondence I had no other purpose than to relieve the tedium of
your sick-chamber. Dillon told me to cheer you up. I tried to. I
thought that you entered into the spirit of the thing. I had no
idea, until within a few days, that you were taking matters au
grand serieux.

What can I say? I am in sackcloth and ashes. I am a pariah, a dog
of an outcast. I tried to make a little romance to interest you,
something soothing and idyllic, and, by Jove! I have done it only
too well! My father doesn't know a word of this, so don't jar the
old gentleman any more than you can help. I fly from the wrath to
come--when you arrive! For oh, dear Jack, there isn't any piazza,
there isn't any hammock--there isn't any Marjorie Daw!