Trusting that you take some interest in my fate, after the more or
less pleasant (?) week I spent at Henley, I hasten to let you know
that I am again visiting friends, though this time on _terra firma_,
and that the customary trials of the "Professional Guest" are once
more my portion. The very evening of my arrival, I discovered that a
man with whom I had not been on speaking terms for years was to be my
neighbour at dinner, and that a girl (who really I cannot understand
_any one_ asking to their house) with the strangest coloured hair, and
the most unnaturally dark eyes, was taken in by the host, and called
"darling" by the hostess. After dinner, which, by reason of the
"range" being out of order, was of a rather limited type, they all
played cards. That is a form of amusement I don't like--I can't afford
it; and this, coupled with the fact that I was not asked to sing,
somewhat damped my ardour as regards visiting strange houses.
[Illustration]
A hard bed, and a distant snore, kept me awake till break of day,
when, for a brief space, I successfully wooed Morpheus. I think I
slept for seven minutes. Then a loud bell rang, and several doors on
an upper floor were heavily banged. I heard the servants chattering as
they went down to breakfast. Then there was silence, and once more I
composed myself to rest, when the dreadest sound of all broke on my
ear. _The baby began to cry._ Then I gave it up as hopeless, but it
was with a sensation of being more dead than alive that I crawled down
to breakfast--late, of course. One is always late the first morning in
a strange house--one can never find one's things. I bore with my best
professional smile the hearty chaff of my host (how I hate a hearty
man the first thing in the morning) and the audible remarks of the
dear children who were seated at intervals round the table. But
my patience well-nigh gave way when I found that our hostess had
carefully mapped out for her guests a list of amusements (save the
mark!) which extended not only over that same day, but several ensuing
ones.
I am not of a malice-bearing nature, but I do devoutly pray that she,
too, may one day taste the full horror of being tucked into a high
dog-cart alongside of a man who you know cannot drive; the tortures,
both mental and physical, of a long walk down dusty roads and over
clayey fields to see that old Elizabethan house "only a mile off;"
or the loathing induced by a pic-nic among mouldering and utterly
uninteresting ruins. All this I swallowed with the equanimity and
patience born of many seasons of country-house visiting; I even
interviewed the old family and old-fashioned cook, on the subject of
a few new dishes, and I helped to entertain some of those strange
aboriginal creatures called "the county." But the announcement one
afternoon, that we were to spend the next in driving ten miles to
attend a Primrose League _Fête_ in the private grounds of a local
magnate, proved too much for me. Shall you be surprised to hear that
on the following morning I received an urgent telegram recalling me
to town? My hostess was, or affected to be, overwhelmned that by my
sudden departure I should miss the _fête_. I knew, however, that
the "dyed" girl rejoiced, and in company with the objectionable man
metaphorically threw up her hat.
As I passed through the Lodge-gates on my way to the station I almost
vowed that I would never pay another visit again. But even as I write,
an invitation was brought me. It is from my Aunt. She writes that she
has taken charming rooms at Flatsands, and hopes I will go and stay
with her there for a few days. She thinks the sea air will do me good.
Perhaps it will. I shall write at once and accept.