Explore "Tono-Bungay" by H.G. Wells on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
But I was only beginning to gauge the unaccountable elements in Beatrice. For a week after my return to Lady Grove I had no sign of her, and then she called with Lady Osprey and brought a huge bunch of perennial sunflowers and Michaelmas daisies, "just the old flowers there were in your room," said my aunt, with a relentless eye on me. I didn't get any talk alone with Beatrice then, and she took occasion to tell us she was going to London for some indefinite number of weeks. I couldn't even pledge her to write to me, and when she did it was a brief, enigmatical, friendly letter with not a word of the reality between us.
I wrote back a love letter -- my first love letter -- and she made no reply for eight days. Then came a scrawl: "I can't write letters. Wait till we can talk. Are you better?"