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The Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume I

Wednesday — November 12, 1919

Wednesday
November 12, 1919

Strange, strange day! My party has just gone—C., J. (admirable person) and F. They arrived at about 10.30 (I expected them two hours later). But it didn't matter. The Casetta seemed to turn into a doll's house. F. couldn't even find room for his glasses. The cousins' furs and coats and silk wraps and bags were scattered everywhere.

F. suggested a run into San Remo, which we took. I was just a little corrupted. That big soft purring motor, page 282 the rugs and cushions, the warmth, the delicacy, all the uglies so far away. We ‘ran’ long past San Remo: it was thrilling for me. I didn't dare to speak hardly because it was so wonderful, and people laughing and silly F. talking Maori down the whistle to the chauffeur. Very silly—but very nice somehow. It carried me away. Then we got up and bought a cake and were as they say, the cynosure of all eyes, and that was nice, too. I was glad the chemist saw me (see what a snob you married!) and then while C. and J. were at Morandi's, F. and I talked and the sun streamed into the car and he said we were like a couple of hot-house plants ripening.

They have just gone. J. left me a pair of horn speggle-chiks of her grandfather's (the kind on a long black ribbon which suit me admirably). She took photos of the Casetta, too, and said, “They'll do to send your husband.” I don't know what happened. F. at the last was wonderfully dear to me. I mean, to be called my precious child was almost too much—to feel someone's arms round me and someone saying, “Get better, you little wonder. You're your mother over again.” It's not being called a wonder, it's having love present, close, warm, to be felt and returned. And then both these women had been terribly homesick for their dogs, so they understood Wing. That was nice, too.

F. did not like this place, neither did they. They were horrified by the cold. F. said that at Mentone they have had none of this bitter wind, that it has never been cold like to-day. He seemed to think I had made a great mistake to be in such a thin house and so exposed. So, alas, did they. They said Mentone was warm, still, with really exquisite walks, sheltered. I said I'd consider going there in the spring. But I won't. When the bad weather is over, here will be warm too. And I don't want a town. I don't want to uproot. At the same time I was a bit sorry it was so much warmer. I fed them and F. left me five 3 Castles cigarettes! ! ! He made the running, talking French, telling stories, producing page 283 spectacles. (He had four pairs of them. C. had three, and J. had three.) At one moment they were all trying each other's on—in this little room. [A drawing of many pairs of spectacles.] It was like a dream…. And here on the table are five daisies and an orchid that F. picked for me and tied with a bit of grass and handed me. If I had much to forgive him, I would forgive him much for this little bunch of flowers. What have they to do with it all?