Very well, Isabel, about the “Pension.” But I must write an introduction saying it is early, early work, or just that it was written between certain years, because you know, Betsy, it's nothing to be proud of. If you didn't advise me I should drop it overboard. But, of course, I'll do the other thing, and certainly it airs one's name. But why isn't it better? It makes me simply hang my head. I'll have to forge ahead and get another decent one written; that's all…

I've told the people here I'm leaving. It was awful. How I hate having to do this, especially as they have been so immoderately kind. They make such a dreadful fuss of me—everybody, down to the servants. Even the masseuse says: “It was so wonderful just to come into the room, and then we all say we know Mrs. Murry's room by the good smell outside the door—cigarettes and flowers.” As to Armand—oh, it's been dreadful. These people are so queer. Just because the room is arranged as we arrange a room, and gay, and I wear my little coats and caps in bed, it seems to them amazing. It's not in the least.

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