should say.  She is going away, and I shall not see her more than that once, I dare say; but she looked at me so with her still deep eyes, and spoke so feelingly, that I kissed her when she went away.  Another new acquaintance is Lady Marion Alford, the Marquis of Northampton’s daughter, very eager about literature and art and Robert, for all which reasons I should care for her; also Hatty calls her divine.  I thought there was the least touch of affectation of fussiness, but it may not be so.  She knelt down before Hatty the other day and gave her—­placed on her finger—­the most splendid ring you can imagine, a ruby in the form of a heart, surrounded and crowned with diamonds.  Hatty is frankly delighted, and says so with all sorts of fantastical exaggerations.

Tell me what you think of the photographs which Robert sends, with his best love.  I think the head perfect, and the other very poetical and picturesque.  I wish I had mine to send Kate, tell her with my dear love, but I have not one, nor can get one.  Perhaps I may have to sit again before leaving Rome, and then she shall be remembered.  And Robert will give her his.

Pray don’t apologise for your Borden.  He is very much to be liked.  Mrs. Bruen is charmed.  He has been three times to talk with me, and Robert has called on him twice.  Robert is quite vexed at your ‘pretension’ about having friends not good enough for his acquaintance.  Yes, really he was vexed.  ‘Isa never understood him—­not she!’

Is there not reason, we may murmur?  But the truth is he is always ready (be pleased to know) to honour your drafts in acquaintanceship, and chooses to be considered ready.

[The remainder of this letter is wanting]

* * * * *

To Miss E.F.  Haworth

Florence:  June 16, 1860 [postmark].

My dearest Fanny,—­I must use my opportunity of sending you these photographs, because I think you will care to have them.  Peni is himself, not a likeness, but an identity. I, like a devil, or the Emperor Napoleon, am not as black as I seem; but Pen looks lovely enough to satisfy my vanity.

Your Indian poet’s letter was despatched to you from Rome, and ’so Apollo saved me.’  Oh—­if you knew how I hate giving opinions!  I think a poet’s opinion of another poet should be paid by some triple fee.  I, at least, always feel that after being ingenuous on these occasions and advising persons who can barely spell against publishing their epic poems, one is supposed to be secretly influenced by the fear of a rival or worse.  Give me a triple fee.

Poor dearest Fanny, of course you are in the chain; being in England.  You are moved to set down the Emperor as ‘the Beast’ 666, of course.  If he crushes ‘Garibaldi you must give him up.’  Yes; but what an If.  If you stab Miss Heaton with a golden bodkin, right through the heart, under circumstances of peculiar cruelty, I shall have to give up you.  If I bake Penini in a pie and eat him, you’ll have to give up me.