His Florence is in his heart still.
Robert will have told you about his bust,[59] which is exquisite in the clay, and will be exhibited in London in the marble next May.

The likeness, the poetry, the ideal grace and infantile reality are all there.

I am so happy to have it.

I set about teasing Robert till he gave it to me, and, as he really loses nothing thereby, I accepted at once, as you may suppose.

I would rather have given up Rome and had the bust; but the artist was generous, and would only accept what would cover the expenses, twenty-five guineas.