It was silly perhaps--the nursing here is
quite efficient--and if any one was to have come out on my
account it ought to have been the poor old mater, who wanted
to very much. But somehow I could only think of _you_. I
wanted you more than I'd ever done before. I hoped somehow
your heart might be touched and you might come out and nurse
me, and then out of pity marry me. Won't you do so? Owing to
my stiff leg I dare say I shall be invalided out of the Army
and get a small wound pension. And I've a project which will
make lots of money--up in Rhodesia--a tip I've had from a
man in the know. I'm going to take up some land near
Salisbury. Ripping country and climate and all that. It
would suit you down to the ground. You could put all that
Warren business behind you, forget it all, drop the name,
start a new career as Mrs. Frank Gardner, and find an
eternally devoted husband in the man that signs this letter.
I've been out here long enough to be up to all the ropes,
and I'd already made a bit of money in Rhodesia before the
war broke out and I got a commission. At any rate I've
enough to start on as a married man, enough to give you a
decent outfit and your passage out here and have a honeymoon
before we start work on our future home.
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