Sunday Afternoon.
Oct 18, 1925.

My dearest Walter:

Third time is charm, so you may receive this letter. You may have noticed that you have missed letters for two days, but it was not because I didn’t write – it was because I didn’t mail the ones I wrote. Day before yesterday I wrote, but committed that epistle to the flames. Last night I wrote again, but that one went up in smoke also. I carried it to the post office twice, but couldn’t make up my mind to post it. However, I sincerely hope I can conscientiously send this one.

October 18, 1925 (Ina)

Sweetheart, I don’t know how to explain it, but I hope you will understand it just the same and can say that I was entirely wrong, absolutely; that I was perfectly silly for letting such a thing enter my mind, and that I had no grounds whatsoever for doing so. Yes, I do hope that you can conscientiously say every bit of that, and then I’ll be happy once more. The fact of the business is that I have cried myself to sleep several nights lately (and thrown in a few tears during the day), because it seemed to me that as our wedding day drew nearer (forgive me for saying it) you seemed to be losing interest to some extent. Your letters sound different somehow from the ones you wrote a month or two ago – they seem like they are written through a sense of duty or something. Dear, I know you are busy, but surely that couldn’t make you lose interest in – it couldn’t, could it? You do love me just as much as you ever did, don’t you? Please say that all of this is a freak of my imagination, and scold me good – say anything you want to – call me “Mama” or anything – just so I know you love me just the same. Sweetheart, I know you are true to me as far as other girls are concerned, but somehow I couldn’t feel perfectly satisfied about the tiny note of indifference your letters seemed to me to have, until I wrote and asked you.

Forgive me Dear, if I have hurt your feelings, in this letter, because I didn’t mean to do it. I wish you knew how very very much I love you and then maybe you would understand. I love you entirely too much to want to hurt you even the tiniest bit.

Always your loving
Ina.