February 3, 1909
Kelowna, B. C.
My dearest Kathleen,
It is certainly looking most promising for an early spring this year, for we are now in the middle of a general thaw and it rained most of today and this is supposed to be our coldest month. It is to be hoped it doesn’t change again, for a spell of zero weather after this would do tremendous damage among the fruit trees. If you keep putting temptation in my way I shall end up by leaving half my work undone, for I really do want to come back and when you write that you want me soon I feel very like letting everything slide and coming straight away and now you say there may be a dance at Stow on April 16th and I would just love to be back for that. I don’t think it’s very likely that I shall be, but if I can I will. It would be perfect, wouldn’t it? If I do get back for it and it really comes off I shall expect lots of dances. There shall be no more of these dances like the last one that the Pritchards’ gave where I am not allowed to dance too often with you in case it attracts notice
Kathleen, dear, you have been a true little girl to me. I love you more than ever, if that is possible. If only I could prove it to you. I would so willingly do anything except put off my coming back to you. All the time I seem to find out something fresh about you to love. I only wish that things had been such that you had found the same about me.
You quote Byron and say that you don’t any of you keep remembering what he said. [References in this letter are to Kathleen–January 15, 1909.] Will you for one please forget it altogether? It is not true, certainly not of me. It is only because I love you that anything interests me at all, or rather because you love me, for if you didn’t I think I should hate everything to do with this place now; and after all what is the good of anything to a man unless he can share it with his girl? I can think of nothing that could in anyway compensate me for the loss of your love, so I have come to the conclusion that Byron was wrong. Anyway, he was hardly the sort of man to know anything about it.
I hope you don’t mind my referring to you as “my girl”. I always think of you as such and it gives me considerable pleasure.
I wish I could be at the Heythrop Ball with you this year. I seem to remember a rather secluded seat in a conservatory there and I would that we were there again. There would be this difference though, that what I wanted to do then you would possibly let me do now. Would you? I do so want to.
The Kitebrook stable has certainly been unlucky this winter. I am glad the Pedlar is the one that wasn’t hurt as he is your mount when the boys are away. I wonder why it’s so hard to hire horses this winter? What a wretched time I should have had last winter if I hadn’t been able to hire from Hawker.
It is extraordinary what a long time it takes me to write to you, as I have told you before. It must be over half an hour since I wrote that last sentence. I always write in an armchair in front of the fire and always either some reminisence or else anticipation carries me away from the matter in hand and I dream dreams. It is after 12:00 o’clock now and is Feb 4th–just a year ago [i. e. a year to the day since Robin proposed to Kathleen], and I love you more than ever. I shall always love you, Kathleen, and my love is not a thing apart but is everything. Never forget that. I am always thinking of next summer now, or rather next spring. It doesn’t seem so far off as it did. At one time I thought the year never would end and now I begin to count the weeks. Soon I shall be counting the days.
I haven’t told you much news this time because my head is full of other things and there isn’t much to tell. Harry and I went to the Cleminsons’ last weekend. It was very nice there except that we had an overdose of bridge. Next Friday I go to a dance at the Walkers’ (Mrs. Walker is the eldest of the Thomson children) and on Saturday I go to the Mallams’ for the weekend. No more at present.
Yours as always,