He found an
interpreter to go through the farming district with me, and then he
invited me to come and stay at his house for a few days before I started
for the interior. He has a son about my age, who I imagine has suffered
from the same form of heart disease with which you are afflicted at
present, as he seemed to be somewhat affected every time Sylvia's name
was mentioned; and a daughter Flora, an awfully friendly, jolly,
pink-and-white creature. Fortunately she informed me promptly that she
was engaged to a fellow in Paris, or I might have got heart disease, too.
They kept me on the jump every minute--sight-seeing and parties, and
excursions of all sorts, and one night we went to see a play of
Shakespeare's, "The Two Gentlemen of Verona," given in Dutch. (I find
that all Continentals admire him immensely, and give frequent
performances of his works.) Get out our old copy and re-read it some
rainy day; you're probably rusty on it, same as I was, but it's an
interesting tale, and there's a song in it that can't help appealing to
you.
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