"Now I've got Dad all to myself, of course I can _see_. I was a fool to write what I did from Paris. The poor old darling had made up his mind to keep it all to himself, and had screwed himself to be extra merry and bright with me, so that I shouldn't twig anything. He did take me in, but I only saw him for a few hours. Of course he can't really hide it, though he thinks he's doing it beautifully, poor lamb! I do believe I'm the proper person to be with him, Cara dear. Perhaps you would do it better, but you can't be here, so I hope you'll be glad that I am, and not think that I only want to enjoy myself, though I am doing that, and it is lovely to be here, and with Dad. It's rather pathetic how he likes to be always with me, and I _know_ he is glad that he brought me here. When we were reading on the balcony this afternoon, I could see he wasn't reading much, but every now and then he looked at me, and once he said how jolly it was that we were here, and were going home together. So I'm a sort of comfort to him, which I'm frightfully glad of, and is just what I want to be. I'm not sure I shan't try to get him to say something later on. After all, everybody knows. I hate her for treating him like that, though of course I'm glad in a way. It shows what she would have been like. She must have made him think that she loved him, and of course he is bowled over. I heard him walking up and down the balcony last night. When he came into my room this morning he said that he had got up to see the sun rise, but it was quite dark when I heard him. After he had had his _petit dejeuner_ he went back to bed and slept till ten nearly, which is a good thing. "But you mustn't think he is moping. It isn't like that at all. He is very cheerful and amusing generally, and we are having a lovely time. I've only told you what I have seen behind it. I'm sure he just wants to forget all about it, and I'm going to help him the very best way I can. I do love him. I shan't marry at all, but shall live at home and look after him. Of course I don't blame you for marrying, darling, as you had to. But I've thought it over and I don't care about it for myself." Barbara also wrote to Bunting--a not too indulgent description of the people staying in the hotel, with references to the changed aspect of the country, and to some places that he knew.