J. Comyns Carr.”
Bellagio,
May, 1903.
“My dearest Doll,
We are in the midst of a thunderstorm that is tearing and raging round the mountains; for the moment it is like Mr. Chamberlain in the earlier part of his campaign—very loud and very near, but I think it is taking itself off to the Gotthard.
I don’t think I have told you of the two little bits of American character I encountered at my hotel. One evening three ladies of that country were set beside me at table d’hote. They were not pre-possessing or young, but I noticed with just a momentary flush of flattery that there was an obvious struggle going on as to which of them should occupy the chair next to me; the struggle ended, and then the next but one turned to the victor and said, ‘Couldn’t you see, my dear, that I just wanted to protect you in case you might be addressed in a manner that might offend you.’ Poor dears! they didn’t know that God had protected them against any attack of mine.
Later, two rather nice girls and their mother took the same places; and one evening after dinner, when the terrace was full of people, the mother looked up to where one of the girls was standing at the window of the room above, and called out: ‘Don’t let him kiss you, dear.’ We all turned to look up, and there stood the girl with a parrot on her shoulder. There was naturally an audible smile among the spectators, and the girl herself was in fits of laughter.
Best love from your father,
J. Comyns Carr.”