Ap 18.

Dearest. Maurice & his battalion went to France yesterday. It was a wonderful still evening for his crossing & as I came back about 8 o’clock from Arlington St I saw a little crescent moon hanging low over the house tops. Suddenly I remembered how my servants in the East would stand & give praise to God when they first saw the crescent moon, & I stood still for an instant in Arlington St & praised God that it was not you who had gone that night to France. — If anything could dull the pleasure of writing to you it would be that I do not know whether a single one of my letters reaches you. But still I write. Sylvia Henley was here last night — she goes tomorrow to Boulogne to spend two nights with Anthony who has a brief leave. She told me that she had heard that the staff in the Levant cruise about the seas in big ships. My letters won’t catch you if you are taking the air on the Queen Elizabeth. But some time Providence may bring them safely into your beloved hands. Have you gone down to Budrum & will it be in the papers tomorrow or next day — not that you went, but that the big ships went there? I know Budrum — the[?] exquisite plan — I wonder how much you’ll leave of it. I rowed across the bay & walked over the isthmus. I spent the day in the little theatre & in the castle on the harbour, looking out over the blue water to Kos. Then I walked & rowed back, & drove that night up to Milassa where I slept in the house of a Greek. In the middle of the night I was roused by an odd sensation & found that the mice in the Greek’ s house were making a nest in my hair. I was too sleepy to mind. I dragged my bed onto the balcony, shut the window behind me & slept till it was full day. So much for Budrum & me & Herodotus & Mausolus — we all played our part there. Now it’s your turn — is it? Ah my love, my love, take me too.

Are you eating your heart out? I think & think what it must be like & can’t picture it. Some day you’ll tell me of it. Or will you? There will be so many other things to say. Perhaps it will be like the Arabian story which I shall never have time to tell you — so you will never tell me of the Mediterranean Expedition. And I shan’t want to hear, any more than you want to hear of Arabia when there’s so much else to say.

It was dreadful this morning to wake & remember that Maurice was gone. I expect he crossed by Boulogne but I don’t yet know. They are rushing troops out. Part of K 1 is in France, but not, I believe at the front yet. The artillery is what I doubt about. Have they enough with the new divisions? If they haven’t it means unsupported infantry — & we know what that is; we’ve not forgotten the story of the 7th division. Well, I don’t know, & it’s no good bothering. I don’t bother; I never run ahead of misfortune. I sit & think of happiness, though it seems so far far off. And you, my very dear? You never lose heart, do you? Why no, you haven’t any to lose now, I’ve just remembered. It’s all with me. That must be why I’m so brave. — I have the most delicious boy scouts in my office, did I tell you? I don’t succeed in keeping them in order, although in the intervals of experimenting on the Salisbury’s [sic] lift, & playing at being camels under the sofas on the landing (an imperfect understanding of the habits of those animals) they are my devoted slaves. One of them came in yesterday & accosted me thus: “If you don’t mind my mentioning it, I think we ought always to salute you when we bring up visitors. It would make the office look much smarter.” I said I thought it very good idea but they must salute his Lordship too “Of course; you & his Lordship that’ll make the office much smarter.” Wasn’t it enchanting? His Lordship is in France for a week - I miss him very much bless him.

Dearest, love me in the intervals. I’m yours.