house--the upper storey--consists of smaller rooms, with bay-windows and
balconies. My bedroom, isolated from all the others, has a glass roof,
like a studio. Another of my queer notions is to be able to look up from
my bed and see the sky above me. I think it is good for the nerves, and
mine are in a terrible condition.

So in future, having no dear men, I can flirt with the little stars in
God's heaven.

Moreover, my villa is remarkable for its beautiful situation, its
fortress-like architecture, and--please make a note of this--its
splendid inhospitality. The garden hedge which encloses it is as high as
the wall of the women's penitentiary at Christianshafen. The gates are
never open, and there is no lodge-keeper. The forest adjoins the garden,
and the garden runs down to the water's edge. The original owner of the
estate was a crank who lived in a hut, which was so overgrown with moss
and creepers that I did not pull it down. Never in my life has anything
given me such delight as the anticipation of this hermit-like existence.
At the same time, I have engaged a first-rate cook, called Torp, who
seems to have the cookery of every country as pat as the Lord's Prayer.
I have no intention of living upon bread and water and virtue.

I shall manage without a footman, although I have rather a weakness for
menservants. But my income will not permit of such luxuries; or rather I
have no idea how far my money will go. I should not care to accept
Richard's generous offer to make me a yearly allowance.

I have also engaged a housemaid, whose name is Jeanne. She has the most
wonderful amber-coloured eyes, flaming red hair, and long, pointed
fingers, so well kept that I cannot help wondering where she got them