then you go on by asking why I've never written you, except the little
note I sent back by the pilot, which you say is not a note at all, "but a
series of repetitions of unmerited thanks." I haven't written because I
didn't feel that I you wanted to be bothered with me. And how can I
write, and not say, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," with every line?
Why, I've learned more, enjoyed more, _lived_ more, in these two months
since I came to Europe, than I had in all the rest of my life before!
Sylvia--but I won't, if you don't like it!

Now, to answer your question, "What have I been doing all this time?" I
feel sure you've seen what I have written, so you know what a wonderful
trip I had from, The Hague to Paris. I'm glad I haven't got to try to
describe Paris to you, for of course you know it much better than I do;
but I hope some day, when my mind's a little calmer, I can describe it to
the rest of the family. Just now I'm not in any state yet to separate the
details from the wild, magnificent jumble of picture galleries and
churches, tombs and palaces, parks and gardens, wonderful broad, bright
streets, theatres, cafes, and dinner-parties. Of course, all your letters
were the main reason that every one was so nice to me. My first day of
sight-seeing ended with a perfectly uproarious dinner at the Fessendens';
I never in my life ran into such a jolly crowd. I finally discovered
which brother Flora belonged to--which had been puzzling me a good deal
before--because about ten o'clock the other two suggested that we should
go out and see if "we could have a little fun." I thought we were having
a good deal right there, but of course I agreed, so we went; and we did.

Then--during the next ten days--I went to mass at the Madeleine, and to
a ball at the American Embassy; I rode on the top of 'buses, and spun
around in motors. We took some all-day trips out into the country, and
saw not only the famous places, like Versailles and Fontainebleau, but