39 Devonshire Place:
Friday morning [July-August 1856].

My dearest Mona Nina, my dear friend,--I am so grieved, so humiliated.
If it is possible to forgive me, do.

I received your note, delayed answering it because I fancied Robert
might _learn_ to accept your kindness about the box after a day's
consideration, and so forgot everything bodily, taking one day for
another, as is my way lately, in this great crush of too much to do and
think of. When I was persuaded to go yesterday morning for the first and
last time to the Royal Academy, on the point of closing, I went in like
an idiot--that is, an innocent--never once thinking of what I was
running the risk of losing; and when I returned and found you gone, you
were lost and I in despair. So much in despair that I did not hope once
you might come again, and out I went after dinner to see the Edward
Kenyons in Beaumont Street, like an innocent--that is, an idiot--and so
lost you again. You may forgive me--it is possible--but to forgive
myself! it is more difficult. Try not quite to give me up for it. Your
note gave me so much pleasure. I _wished_ so to see you! For the future
I mean to write down engagements in a text-hand, and set them up
somewhere in sight; but if I broke through twenty others as shamefully,
it would not be with as much real grief to myself as in this fault to my
dearest Mona Nina. Do come soon, out of mercy--and magnanimity!

Your _ever_ affectionate
BA.