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forever. She was made of fluff and nothing, was wholly released, though she had never been so confined.
    Up and down they went, more times than they could ever have hoped. If the compartment was constrained, if she could not turn totally to face him, at least they were alone. When they stepped outside it seemed at first they could hardly look each other in the eye, but then everyone remarked how well, how naturally, they moved and sang, as if they’d been working closely all their lives. And almost every other night, for more than a month, they could step into that lifted space and for five or ten minutes be alone together again, alone in their secret, before the door would slide open and they would come forward, flushed and laughing, to general applause, to sing their last number and be married for the hundredth, the five hundredth, time, just as all lovers dreamed.

Letters

    Dearest Stephen
,
    I have not forgotten you. We have been so busy. There is no time to eat or think. If only you were here
.
    We are sorry that things are in such a dreadful state. When Mama read you were ill she went quite pale. We are enclosing some banknotes. Please do all that is necessary and for God’s sake take care. If you die there I shall never forgive you nor speak to you ever again
.
    I am so happy, except for missing you. It is all a dream. Send me a drawing and an English song. Do send them
.
    Have you met Maestro Rauzzini? Once you have met him you shall understand me better
.
    There is a buffo singer here who is quite drôle. His name is Francesco Benucci and we sing together like a charm. Someday you will meet him. He’s got the blackest eyebrows you ever saw—they are almost blue. But we laugh and laugh. I havenever met such a fine buffo. After you meet him you can write him an aria
.
    Your silly sister
,
    Anna
    Dear Anna
,
    Glad you’ve not forgotten me! I have written about the business matters in my letter to our mother. There is much to be done
.
    I love it here and never want to leave. I’m English and that is all. And you are becoming more Italian by the moment, aren’t you? I met your Rauzzini and heard him sing. The voice, my God! He sang something Mozart wrote him. Extraordinary, humbling. He liked my Italian and said I resembled you, and told me I should stand taller and not apologize for myself
.
    Be careful of that buffo. If his voice is as good as you say and his eyebrows as black, I don’t trust him. Remember your virtue and your worth. You are too young for buffos. I fear you are too soft. Why didn’t Rauzzini give you some of his steel?
    I sold a watercolor to the father of one of my pupils and walked around as if I’d been knighted. I enclose a sketch and a song
.
    Ever your
,
    Stephen
    Dearest Stephen
,
    I’m dismayed you are so happy and so English. You’ll never come back to us! Don’t worry about the buffo, he’s the best gentleman I know. Rauzzini gave me his phoenix pin and that is my steel. Next month I’ll be seventeen. Tom Linley was friends with Mozart, don’t you remember? In Italy when they were boys
.
    Benucci is really very grand. He makes me laugh till mysides hurt, and he sounds like a lion. Now I must go. I have already learned your song by heart and am singing it to you now. Can you hear?
    With greatest affection
,
    Anna
    P.S. Rauzzini is right, you mustn’t apologize, at least not for yourself. It’s good to apologize for some things, for instance if you tread on a lady’s foot or behave badly, but you should not apologize for your nature—after all, didn’t you sell a watercolor? But I’m sad you sold it, for it means I shan’t see it
.

A New Maid

    Benucci had a three-month engagement in Rome, and would be gone some four or five months in consequence. Mandini would take his place in the interim, as primo buffo at La Scala. Anna had known of Benucci’s impending departure for some time, but still it was horrible and she did not know what to do. For all their secret