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I can't! I can't get into the vein. (Flings down pen.) I don't know what to say--don't know how to begin. I wish to goodness I'd spoken to her at the dance the other evening, (rises, to C.) when she told me they were all going away for the summer; instead, I've gone and left everything till the very last minute, and now I'm regularly nonplussed. By George! I know what I'll do. I'll make an exercise of it. I'll write it out a dozen different ways, and send the one I think looks the best. (Goes back to table and sits, takes up pen.) So come on, Jack, here we are, in love with the dearest girl on earth--tackle her like a man, and tell her so, or they'll be off north, you'll be gone down, and have lost your chance for ever. She's my fate, and I'm hanged if I shan't be hers! So here goes. (Writing.) " My Darling "! (Stops.) Rather strong, perhaps, to begin with. (Tears up paper, places on L. of writing-table, begins again.) " My Dear Miss Verdun " (Stops again.) No, too formal--and not a bit what I really feel. (Tears that up.) " My Dear " Hang it, why not? (Writes boldly.) " My Dear Kitty "! That's grand!

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