_Rome,
October._
Oh, little Polly the Pagan, you say that variety is the spice of life
and accordingly you won’t write any more sweet letters for a time, so
I must hurry to tell you that spice is one of the things forbidden in
the diet of my cure, and so I know you won’t force me to take any. You
must, you _must_ write me real love letters, or something fatal may
happen to me.
Do you wish me to stop writing pretty things to you, now that you have
stopped writing them to me? Because, if that is the case, I--I can’t
do it! So you see, I plan to keep on pestering you day after day, and
you may say, oh, well, as long as it makes him happy, let him
continue. The Frenchwoman’s philosophy is that woman’s greatest
happiness is in making man happy. She may not really care for him,
but she will pretend to, if it makes his heart glad. That is pretty
good philosophy. Since you are soon to be in fair France, you should
consider the French point of view!
As for your Aunt’s quotation, “Men are April when they woo, December
when they wed,” why, that is easily explained. It means that fires
burn more hotly in the cold month and more steadily than in flowery
April.
Peppi and I had all yesterday evening together, and a very pleasant
time of it, too. I went over to his studio and found him. He made a
delightful picture, frowzy-haired but handsome in his bright blue
blouse, with his pallet in his hand, and his pet white goose following
him about, lifting her yellow beak to be fed, and spreading her snowy
wings. He explained he had purchased her for her feathery plumage to
help him in a picture he was painting of an angel. We dined at the
Cambrinus in the garden with colored lights where it was cool and
pretty. And then afterwards I took him to the circus. We meet there
almost every night. It is an epidemic here.
Oh, a most excellent circus that puts on a lot of style! The band
blared out the same old music, marches for the athletes to come
stalking in by and polkas to mark time for the horses, and a really
most beautiful creature, she looks a little like Mona Lisa, performed
on the trapeze--it was great, great fun.
As I can’t go up to Paris, isn’t it possible for you to sail home by
way of Naples so I can get a glimpse of you?
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