[An unposted letter.]

Dear B. I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you are dancing again—‘albeit delicately’, as you say.

Lo! how sweetly the Graces do it foot
To the instrument!
They dauncen deftly and singen sooth
In their merriement.

That means you are really better. Don't get ill again. Isn't it awful—being ill! I lie all day on my old balcony lapping up eggs and cream and butter with no one but a pet gold-finch to bear me tumpanēē. I must say the gold-finch is a great lamb. He's jet tame, and this morning after it had rained he came for his Huntley and Palmer crumb with a little twinkling rain-drop on his head. I never saw anyone look more silly and nice. Switzerland is full of birds, but they are mostly stodgy little German trots flown out of Appenrodt's catalogue…. But all Switzerland is on the side of the stodges….