_Sorrento,
March._
We’ve been driving about all day, and have seen such a lot of people
we know at the hotel. Oh, isn’t it lovely here! And it will be even
nicer when you arrive. Of course you know Sorrento well. It’s very
fascinating to me,--the white oriental villas, the peacock blue of the
sea, and the gray-green olive orchards. We wanted to buy some olives,
but what do you suppose the storekeeper said?
“We have none.”
“But I thought this was the land of olives!”
“We have none,” he repeated. “Ship olives to Park and Tilford, New
York.”
When you come, I am going to take you over to Naples to see an
octopus. I know he was once a faithless lover, and has been changed
into a many-armed, flesh-colored monster by a water-siren whom he
failed to adore properly. Here he is, now, doomed to move forever in a
house of glass where humans come and point their finger at him.
So beware! Such is the wrath of--sirens.
At night we go out on the balcony to listen to some gay Neapolitan
songs sung by a handsome, dark-eyed fellow. He looks like the black
and frowzy-headed Peppi. Aunt threw him a handful of lire for that
reason, I believe. Then we watch the brightly-dressed peasants dance
the tarantella--I have bought some castenets, so when you get here,
I’ll dance for you!
You write of a picnic at Frascati. Was it as nice as ours?--when you
and round-faced Pan went, and the Prince, and lanky Jan, the Dutch
Secretary, and my friend Sybil with her straight black hair and her
flirtatious dark blue eyes? How we enjoyed the yellow wine, and
gobbled our sandwiches under the trees and told naughty stories and
sang lively songs. And on the way back wandered down that lovely
avenue of ilexes hand in hand!
Checkers wishes me to say he would give all his old boots to see you.
Aunt wants me to thank you for the photograph you sent her, ahem!
Please do not get spoiled if I add that I think you are very
good-looking.
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