The sailors in the sailing ships have been washing. They are all pegged out along the masts and spars. It's a very still primrose and cowslip day—I am going to drive in a kerridge to that little Dürer town I told you of. The Englishman did not go away on Monday. He stayed till the end of the week to show me the different walks he has discovered here and it is he who is taking me there this afternoon. How we get there Heaven only knows but he says there is a road. This man has certainly been awfully kind to me…. I can't persuade him that I am more page 53 than six years old and quite able to take my own ticket and manage my own affairs.

You know I really am a little tempted to take a minute villa later on here. Would it be more expensive than living here, do you think? It's not that I don't like this hotel—I do, and (this is like my brother) I am awfully popular with all the people here—You would laugh. I know all their separate histories and married lives, etc. I sit and listen—they talk. I feel sometimes very much like Fergusson. But a little villa with a handkerchief of garden is a very attractive idea—Talk to me about it.

Your two letters to-day for some reason have made me rather stiff—rather dumb. I feel it as I write—I don't know why. I feel I am talking over a fence, and my voice is tiny like a grasshopper's. Write to me again at length and know that this little stuffiness n'est rien, and that really and truly there isn't a fence and we are sitting hand in hand under a rhubarb leaf and I am showing you what I have got in my pocket and you are showing me what you have got in yours.