Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so
I must stop. I really feel like a dissipated
London fine lady, writing here so late, with my room
full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks,
theaters, new gowns, and gallant creatures who say
“Ah!” and twirl their blond mustaches with
the true English lordliness. I long to see you
all, and in spite of my nonsense am, as ever, your
loving . . .
PARIS
Dear girls,
In my last I told you about our London visit, how
kind the Vaughns were, and what pleasant parties they
made for us. I enjoyed the trips to Hampton
Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything
else, for at Hampton I saw Raphael’s cartoons,
and at the Museum, rooms full of pictures by Turner,
Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great creatures.
The day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had
a regular English picnic, and I had more splendid
oaks and groups of deer than I could copy, also heard
a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We ‘did’
London to our heart’s content, thanks to Fred
and Frank, and were sorry to go away, for though English
people are slow to take you in, when they once make
up their minds to do it they cannot be outdone in
hospitality, I think. The Vaughns hope to meet
us in Rome next winter, and I shall be dreadfully
disappointed if they don’t, for Grace and I
are great friends, and the boys very nice fellows,
especially Fred.
Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned
up again, saying he had come for a holiday, and was
going to Switzerland. Aunt looked sober at first,
but he was so cool about it she couldn’t say
a word. And now we get on nicely, and are very
glad he came, for he speaks French like a native, and
I don’t know what we should do without him.
Uncle doesn’t know ten words, and insists on
talking English very loud, as if it would make people
understand him. Aunt’s pronunciation is
old-fashioned, and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves
that we knew a good deal, find we don’t, and
are very grateful to have Fred do the ‘parley
vooing’, as Uncle calls it.
Such delightful times as we are having! Sight-seeing
from morning till night, stopping for nice lunches
in the gay cafes, and meeting with all sorts
of droll adventures. Rainy days I spend in the
Louvre, revelling in pictures. Jo would turn
up her naughty nose at some of the finest, because
she has no soul for art, but I have, and I’m
cultivating eye and taste as fast as I can.
She would like the relics of great people better,
for I’ve seen her Napoleon’s cocked hat
and gray coat, his baby’s cradle and his old
toothbrush, also Marie Antoinette’s little shoe,
the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne’s sword,
and many other interesting things. I’ll
talk for hours about them when I come, but haven’t
time to write.
