He is a good letter-writer, that at least she can say, Eleanor thinks, he is a lot like Henry in this. The question, however, is if love, even if it is the sincerest, truest love imaginable, can survive on a letter or two a week, and the promise that one day, everything will change for the better. She looks up from her letter and out of the window, and she sees Henry and Miss Morland outside in the park, talking a walk, displaying no care for the world at all, and she wonders if for some people, it really is that easy.