The Stove is come, installed, burning, giving out the most blessed beneficent heat imaginable! I cannot tell you how good it is to be in this room—in a whole warm room with no smoke, no making up fires, just a silent, discreet, never-failing heat. If I were a savage I should pray to it and offer it the bodies of infants. Thank you a billion times for your dear thought. And now a belated thank you for the yellow roses—which are perfection. Now stop being generous, or I'll have to lead a baby elephant washed in rose soap, hung with lily buds and marigolds, carrying a flamingo in a cage made of mutton-fat jade on its back, to your doorstep as a return for past favours.