_Rome,
February._
Here I am at the office, receiving company in the mildest manner,
trying to soothe my dissatisfied countrymen, and do impossibilities of
one sort and another. I have already had several visitors this
morning. One was a young man who has had the cheerful but fruitful
experience of being buncoed out of several thousand francs at Naples
and is accordingly needy. I helped him out of the store of my wisdom
and out of the store of my bank account, and he has departed wiser if
somewhat sadder.
Last night Jan and I went again to Peppi’s studio. It seemed as if you
were really in the terrace room--you seemed to pervade the place with
its old tapestries and sketches, its rugs and easels and paints and
books of photographs, and the northern window letting in a flood of
moonlight. And there your shadow sat, while Jan played the piano
delightfully, gavottes, mazurkas, ballets.
I have adopted a plan which makes me the happiest of men. I carry the
last letter which I receive from you in my pocket until the next one
comes, and so I am never disappointed in not having a missive from
you. It is a splendid scheme, for then I always have something to
read. I shan’t want to give up the one I received today, though, when
the next one comes, for it is so nice. But then, the next one may be
still nicer.
* * * * *