She walked slowly along the passage, meditating on love, and remotely on its slave, Mr.Nicholas Frim.
Nicholas had never written her a letter; but she was determined that he should, some day.

She wondered what love-letters were like?
Like valentines without the Cupids.

Practical valentines, one might say.

Not vapoury and wild, but hot and to the point.

Delightful things! No harm in peeping at a love-letter, if you do it with the eye of a friend.
Polly spelt just a word when a door opened at her elbow.