[fragment]

 

            As far as I can see, you ought to have a very severe lecture on your ideas about last Sunday night. Either you let me come mainly for my happiness or mainly for your pleasure. You say the latter but I'm beginning to know you well enough now to know that you hide your wonderful deeds like your wonderful self under a mass of denial and misleading reasons. It's disconcerting and / at times I almost feel like shaking you for it, but always—I love you for it. But please if there ever are times in the future when for any reason you would rather not see me, don't let me come anyway just for my happiness because under those circumstances I would really be happier to have you go to bed or do whatever would help you the most.

 

            The idea sounds sort of crazy to me but if you did think it would make you / feel a little better to have me come, then I'm ever so happy. I don't believe I'll tell you why, now, I wanted to see you so much that evening. But I did when you said though, that you wanted me to come but that you should not have let me because you were so stupid, it hurt me. Just because you are tired and nerve-strained from taking care of other people certainly doesn't mean you are stupid. Oh Elizabeth Dear, what sort of a fair weather friend do you think I am that you shouldn't have let me come when you were tired when you wanted to see me? I know I didn't help but you might at least give me credit for wanting to. You seem to believe that I like you only when you are well and happy and vivacious. I do like you then, you are wonderful and I have better times with you than with anyone else. But—I would rather be with you once when you are tired and ill and discouraged and downhearted than ten times when you are the opposite. / And I didn't mean to tell you but I love you more then, too.

 

            You did take some of the hurt away by saying that you would have telephoned anyone else not to come.

 

            I believe I once told you my ruling passion was curiosity. Perhaps it would be more exact to say that it is a desire for greater and ever greater understanding. When I was smaller the desire was to understand why the wind blew, what made color, how the telephone worked, etc. As I grew older the desire / to understand such things was encroached upon and surpassed by my desire to understand people. For the things which come from such understanding are almost countless. But among the greatest returns is the opportunity to help. To help another, it is first necessary to understand, unless the help is accidental, is it not?

 

            But it comes so slowly to me. There are some things I can see and recognize and yet can not understand however / hard I try. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever be able to. And the little I have, has cost me more than everything else, which is perhaps why I treasure it so. But oh, it is so little,—compared to yours for instance. I often wonder what you have had to pay for yours. I understand a few, a very, very few things which you don't, but oh the understanding which you have and I haven't! You understand so much that only lately have I begun to realize that you don't understand some of the things I thought you did, or rather I am wondering if you do.

 

            For instance, I don't believe you realize what sort of a friend I am yet or that I'd gladly sell my soul (if I have one) to the Devil if I could help you a little. If there are missions in this world I think I'd like to choose that of being a Good Friend.

 

            Of course, I'll be thinking about you tonight (and every other one for that matter) and I do hope you will have a good time, Dear.

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