The doctor came yesterday and put his British foot down on all the lovely plans. I am not to get up yet and when I do only to lie on a couch or on the verandah for a few page 317 hours a day at present. My heart which evidently feels its turn has come for a little attention has been playing me tricks and I'll have to give way to the jealous creature for the present. So bang goes the lovely Christmas! We're more than sorry and it was lovely to have been asked to the party and I hate to be such an unsatisfactory creature. Will you and Cousin Connie forgive me? But what can one do when ones heart gives the most marvellous imitations of the big drum in a brass band—first, heard very far away in the distance, then coming nearer and nearer, then thumping so loud that you think it must break the windows and then wonderful faint, far away ‘distant’ effects—and all for an audience of one! But it's not really ‘serious’—only a temporary thing. I'll have to learn to play the fife to keep it company—

A comfortable old Scottish party from San Remo came to call the other day and seeing the chaste nudity of the Casetta she has since sent us a great roll of carpets and rugs that she had in store so we are a great deal snugger and warmer here. The doctor is definitely opposed to my moving at present. Ida takes little jaunts into San Remo and she has made several friends and I've plenty of work to keep me going. So that's my programme for the present, quite a satisfactory one except that it prevents me from spreading my wings.