ane:

"You have not been to see us for a long time, and so I am
obliged to write what I have to say. It is that our friends
_cannot say enough_ in praise of your portrait of me, and
Mrs. Bixby, an American who is staying at the pension Trollope,
wants to have one just like it--one, of course, I mean, as much
like her as that is like me, but not a bit more. But before she
decides she wants to know what it will cost. And that brings me
to the question, What is the price of my picture? Please, let me
beg you to make it _a figure I shall not blush to pay_ for
such a _fine piece of work_. Make it a price that agrees
with my estimate of the picture rather than your _very
modest_ one. I shall be glad, you ought to know, to pay
anything you say. You couldn't, if you tried, make it seem too
much for me to pay for _such a fine piece of work_. I have
got up in the middle of the night and gone down to look at it
with a candle, and stood till I began to sneeze, I like it so
much, though I know it's too good-looking. So please set a good
price on it and not _make me feel mean_ taking it. Then
I'll tell Mrs. Bixby what I paid. She's got plenty of money, and
even if she beats you down, it will be better if she knows I
paid a big price. You have such a wonderful talent it ought to
make your fortune, and so it will by and by. Don't forget that
we are always glad to see you and that you haven't been for
quite a while.

"Yours sincerely,
"Aurora Hawthorne.

"P.S. What do you think Busteretto did? He saw me pouring some
water into a bowl and imagined I was going to give him a bath.
So he went to hide under the grate. Then of course he had to
have a bath, which he wouldn't have had to otherwise. He sends
much love.

"Another P.S. I meant to tell you we have got a box for the
veglione (I hope that is the way to spell it) on the last night
of the Carnival. We have only asked the Fosses so far, and we
want you to be sure to save that night to come with us."

Gerald, having read, sat down and wrote, with a disregard to the
delicacy of his hair-lines and the shading of his down-strokes that
would have furnished a poor example to anybody:

"The portrait, my dear Mrs. Hawthorne, is a gift, for which I
will not even acce