John left me on Friday for Saltbridge, to visit Archdeacon Williams,
whom, as you know, he is always quoting. They have never met and I
do hope they will not be disappointed in one another, and that John
will behave! I feel like a mother whose child has gone to visit
strangers. However, I comfort myself with the thought that children
often behave better when they are left alone--I suppose because they
then have a keener sense of responsibility!
I expect him back this afternoon and am hastening to write you before
his return, for I would not have him see this letter for worlds. He
would never cease teasing me about my "beloved English."
He had scarcely gone before a telegram came from Gertrude Shelburne,
asking me to come to them for the week-end. I was glad to get it,
first, because I am devoted to her, and second, because I wanted to
see their place, which I had been told was beautiful--I suppose I
ought to add that I had already begun to be a trifle triste without
John.
On the map it did not look far from Shrewsbury to Deepford, but the
porter told me it would save time if I went up to "town" and caught
the Brighton express, which would stop at Deepford if I told the
guard I was for Admiral Shelburne's. This did not seem probable, but
it proved to be true.
I arrived for tea, which was being served on the lawn, quite as in an
English novel. I felt somewhat like the poor governess, in such
stories, who is destined ultimately to marry the heir of the
adjoining estate, but has not yet discovered her fate! For I was
feeling a little shy--not because the people were so fine, but
because they were so intimate. If one does not know the people
talked of in an English household, it looks as if one did not know
anybody! However, that did not last long, for Gertrude, who had been
motoring with a young man when I arrived, soon appeared and made me
feel at home.
If I were a human pig I should arrange to have, each day, an American
breakfast, a French dinner, and an English tea! What would I do for
luncheon? Do as I did to-day. Go without one in order to enjoy the
tea!
Admiral Sir George Shelburne, as I believe he is formally called, is
as delightful as ever. He kissed me, not quite with the paternal air
which should go with his years, but rather like one who has had a
sweetheart in every port! He is under the impression that he rules
the house as he once ruled a man-of-war. As a matter of fact,
Gertrude manages him and every one else!
After tea the admiral asked me if I would like to see the gardens.
As this was the "first time of asking" I was able to say with a clear
conscience that I should be delighted. How I wish you might see
these gardens! There is a "lady's walk" that you would rejoice to
make a water-color of. It is enclosed by brick walls of a deep red,
and the borders are a riot of color. Take down your Latin dictionary
and read anywhere in it, and you will get a notion of the names the
admiral called off to me! Whether they were right or wrong I have no
means of knowing, but it sounded very learned. I asked the admiral
if his taste had laid out the lady's walk, and he modestly admitted
that it had; and the best of it is he believes it. Gertrude is a
wonder!
The "guests" were a young man who is secretary to some one in the
government, and is never separated from a despatch-box, supposed to
contain international secrets upon which the peace of the world
depends. I do not think I ever met any one who took himself quite so
seriously. He is supposed to be devoted to Gertrude, and is probably
as much interested in her as he can be in any one besides himself.
So I fear she is, at best, but a bad second! There is, however,
trouble brewing for that young man, as I learned as soon as I saw a
"photo" (by the way, one never says "photograph" in polite society,
but "photo," and "pram," and "bike." It is a liberty the owners take
with their language. This sounds like John, the reason being that
for the moment I feel like John. But you will be saying: "What about
the photograph?") How curious you are! Well, if you must know, it
is of a young naval officer the Shelburnes met at "Gib," two years
ago. He has a straight nose and a firm chin _à la_ Gibson, and blue
eyes, and his name is Guy. Doesn't this tell you all you need to
know? The admiral is supposed to favor the young man with the
despatch-box--possibly because he knows too much about sweethearts in
every port. How do you guess it will end? See what powers of
condensation I have! It took Gertrude two hours to tell me what I
have written in a few moments!
There are two perfectly uninteresting men besides the one already
spoken of, and three nondescript women who devoted themselves to me.
Only one of them calls for any attention. This is Lady Agatha
Bumstead. She is handsome and really means to be nice, but
unfortunately she has been in the "States," and does not want to
hear, but only to tell about them.
After dinner, while the men were sitting over their wine, she
suddenly said to me: "Have you any honest judges in America now?"