Such literary masterpieces deserved adequate answers, and she found
herself trying to make up in quantity what she lacked in quality. His
letters always began, "Dearest Heloise," or "Melisande," or "Baucis," or
"Isolde"; and, rather than acknowledge her ignorance of these classic
allusions, she looked them up and sent her answers to "Dear Abelard," or
"Pelleas," or "Philemon," or "Tristan," as the case demanded. She indited
her missives with a dainty gold pen engraved with an orchid, which Harold
had requested her never to profane by secular use.
The correspondence, while throbbing with emotion, was not by any means
devoid of practical details. Harold lost no opportunity of urging Eleanor
to remain firm in her resolve to go to New York. It would be sheer folly,
he pointed out, to give up the chance of a professional debut, a chance
that might not come again in years. He pointed out that her grandfather
had changed all his plans on the strength of her coming, and would be
utterly heartbroken if she failed to keep her promise. He delicately
intimated that her failure to take the part he had so laboriously written
for her might seal the fate of "Phantom Love" and prove the downfall of
both its creators.
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