These belong to the farm, which is the only house near us.
There goes the breakfast gong. Much love. Modified love to
Tibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keep
you company, but what a bore. Burn this. Will write again
Thursday.

Helen


HOWARDS END,
FRIDAY.

Dearest Meg,

I am having a glorious time. I like them all. Mrs.
Wilcox, if quieter than in Germany, is sweeter than ever,
and I never saw anything like her steady unselfishness, and
the best of it is that the others do not take advantage of
her. They are the very happiest, jolliest family that you
can imagine. I do really feel that we are making friends.
The fun of it is that they think me a noodle, and say so--at
least Mr. Wilcox does--and when that happens, and one
doesn't mind, it's a pretty sure test, isn't it? He says
the most horrid things about women's suffrage so nicely, and
when I said I believed in equality he just folded his arms
and gave me such a setting down as I've never had. Meg,
shall we ever learn to talk less? I never felt so ashamed
of myself in my life. I couldn't point to a time when men
had been equal, nor even to a time when the wish to be equal
had made them happier in other ways. I couldn't say a