I confess to a tender recollection of the sunny, cheerful, lazy, dishonest little place, where I spent four such eventful years.

Perhaps I love it because my romance was played there, as I should love any place where I had seen the signorina.

For I am not cured.

I don't go about moaning--I enjoy life.

But, in spite of my affection for the President, hardly a day passes that I don't curse that accursed tree-root.
And she?
what does she feel?
I don't know.