January 11, 1920
What kind of "spice" do you like? Perhaps I please you, for I do become tired of the same thing, especially if it is not of as high a quality or standard as one could and would expect of a person who is capable of producing better effects. Since you said what you did, I am sorry that I wrote to you so soon. It would have been very interesting to have seen what you would have said, no doubt, and also I should have appreciated a note of sympathy and query. You must have peculiar ideas of what is wrong and of what is right. The pain and pangs of remorse do not come from doing right but from wrong, and surely there is a great difference to be found there if one chooses to go farther and think a little. Truthfully, I do not recall any agreement of correspondence concerning you and myself. Do you know of any other agreement that may not be clear to me? It is likely that you take some things more seriously than I, and I wonder if they are really the bigger ones. If so, then I am off. I gather from what you say about writing that it makes you no real difference whether I care for your correspondence or not, and you would willingly and gladly stop if I but hinted. Is it like this that you accept my letters simply because you like to get letters from someone, and not preferably from this source? If this is not true, then I think the other solution must be that you are somewhat timid, not fearless, and possess a sense of modesty that is not altogether necessary in some cases. Rather than admit a fact you would apparently disregard, and say and do things to throw people off the track. I could not easily believe that you are incapable of ever working to gain the right kind of love. In what sort of cases does love bring pain, for I guess I do not clearly understand you? We have no right to expect that any thing worthwhile can be gained by pleasure alone, or that no pain nor trouble goes with it. Is not the thing which is the hardest to secure the most valuable? Work as well as wait. Good things will come more readily to those who are worthy in the most respects.
P.S. I dance; but not much. This P.M. I went with a friend to hear Isolde Menges give a violin recital at the Family. Richard. 7:00 P.M.