LETTERS FROM G. G. - PROLOGUE - THERE was a Nice Girl who once spent a winter in Paris at a pension, and next her at. table chanced to sit a Youth. He was a very Superior Person, very positive, v ry toplofty, and he had some excuse, for he was Unusually Intelligent. One day he undertook to snub the Girlthat is, he contradicted her, and treated her in general as if she were a part of the pattern of the wall-paper. The Girl was unused to that sort of thing, and was breathless with surprise. People were not given to snubbing her, partly because she was so Very Nice, and also because she had a tongue which could be sharp on occa sion. I 2 Letters from G. G. She reasoned the case with herself One of two things must happen-either she must sit upon that Young Man so hard that he vould never recover, or she must be so nice that he would never do it again. Either alternative was easy, but one was a little the more agreeable, so she gulped hard, and was nice for two whole weeks, to very good effect, for the night before the Youth left Paris he spent the entire evening telling her how very much he liked her. By that h e the Girl had discovered that he was quite exceptionally amusing, and they agreed that though here their paths diverged, yet they would not entirely lose track of each other-that is, they mould write. They wrote at intervals more or less short for two years. Then the opportunity offered of their meeting again. But meanwhile they had grown such good friends on paper that they decided that a renewal of personal acquaintance would be a risk. Their letters were so eminently satisfactory that they doubted Letters from G. G. 3 illhether they would find each other as entirely delightful, and thought it wisest to let well alone. More years passed, making them only better friends. They had almost forgotten one another as real people, and each thought of the other as a friendly Myth or Shadow from whom it was good to hear, and to whom it was very pleasant to give all ones real opinions L about things. They wrote . . . of what did they not write They wrote of Love and Life and Death of Dogs, of themselves, and one another of Mice and Men and Modern Instances of trifles light as air of all that one does and hears in the course of the days work, and hands on because it means a laugh or a tear of all that goes to make people and their lives. - I They reveled in the rarity of a friendship which seemed like to become lifelong, based on letters alonc-barring the two little weeks of their knowledge of each other face to face. 4 , Letters from G. G. They enjoyed the Game, and agreed that to meet again in the light of common day would be stupid and obvious and commonplace. And so they wrote until . . . but you shall read. Dont be alarmed . . . not until they died. They are still alive and writing. Spring. I am not, as you suggest, of those who make promises but to break them, and I propose to make you very sorry for your intimation of lack of good faith on my part. Shortly after you left Paris I fell ill-very, very, very ill. I am at this moment propped up in bed, making a special and uncomfortable effort. Writing sick abed isnt a bit of fun. But you say you are sailing for home by the end of the week, so if word is to reach you in Naples at all, it must go now, or you will go to your grave thinking me faithless, for I dont believe you would bend your proud pen to writing a third time in the teeth of silence...