poken: "I have no heart left. You've torn
it in two between you. Love is all self--I wanted him to die." She
remembered too the raindrops on the vines like a million tiny lamps, and
the throstle that began singing. Then, as dreams die out into warm
nothingness, recollection vanished, and the smile came back to her lips.

She took out a letter.

"....O Chris! We are really coming; I seem to be always telling it to
myself, and I have told Scruff many times, but he does not care, because
he is getting old. Miss Naylor says we shall arrive for breakfast, and
that we shall be hungry, but perhaps she will not be very hungry, if it
is rough. Papa said to me: 'Je serai inconsolable, mais inconsolable!'
But I think he will not be, because he is going to Vienna. When we are
come, there will be nobody at Villa Rubein; Aunt Constance has gone a
fortnight ago to Florence. There is a young man at her hotel; she says
he will be one of the greatest playwriters in England, and she sent me a
play of his to read; it was only a little about love, I did not like it
very much.... O Chris! I think I shall cry when I see you. As I am
quite grown up, Miss Naylor is not to come back with me; sometimes she is
sad, but she will be glad to see you, Chris. She seems always sadder
when it is Spring. Today I walked along the wall; the little green balls
of wool are growing on the poplars already, and I saw one chafer; it will
not be long before the cherry blossom comes; and I felt so funny, sad and
happy together, and once I thought that I had wings and could fly away up
the valley to Meran--but I had none, so I sat on the bench where we sat
the day we took the pictures, and I thought and thought; there was
nothing came to me in my thoughts, but all was sweet and a little noisy,
and rather sad; it was like the buzzing of the chafer, in my head; and
now I feel so tired and all my blood is running up and down me. I do not
mind, because I know it is the Spring.

"Dominique came to see us the other day; he is very well, and is half the
proprietor of the Adler Hotel, at Meran; he is not at all different, and
he asked about you and about Alois--do you know, Chris, to myself I call
him Herr Harz, but when I have seen him this time I shall call him Alois
in my heart also.

"I have a letter from Dr. Edmund; he is in London, so perhaps you have
seen him, only he has a great many patients and some that he has 'hopes
of killing soon'! especially