[Sidenote:  Marshall and Snelgrove]

It was quainter even than the frumps’ dinner that Godmamma gave.  I had a very nervous young man with red hair and glasses to take me in; I drew “Snelgrove,” so he was “Marshall.”  He evidently had not understood a bit about the drawing, and kept calling me “Miss Snelgrove,” until I was obliged to say to him, “But my name is not Snelgrove any more than yours is Marshall.”

“But my name is Marshall,” he said, “and I was told to find a lady of the name of ‘Snelgrove,’ and I wondered at the strange coincidence.”

He looked so dreadfully distressed that I had to explain to him; and he got so nervous at his mistake that he hardly spoke for the rest of dinner.

The dishes were exquisite, and Lady Theodosia enjoyed them all, in spite of “Fanny” (that is the Spitz) constantly falling off her lap, and having to be fished for by her own footman, who always stands behind her chair, ready for these emergencies.  I call it very plucky of the dog to go on trying; for what lap Lady Theodosia has is so steep it must be like trying to sleep on the dome of St. Paul’s.  Mr. Roper sat at my other side, and after a while he talked to me; he said he came every year to shoot partridges, and it was always the same.  On the night he arrived there was always this dinner party, and some years the most absurd things had happened, but Lady Theodosia did not care a button.  He thought there were a good many advantages in being a Duke’s daughter; they don’t dare to offend her, he said, although they are ready to tear one another’s eyes out when they are put with the wrong people.  Lady Theodosia puffed a good deal as dinner went on, I could hear her from where I sat.  She is in slight mourning, so below her diamond necklace—­which is magnificent, but has not been cleaned for years—­she had a set of five lockets, on a chain all made of bog oak, and afterwards I found each locket had a portrait of some pet animal who is dead in it, and a piece of its hair.  You would never guess that she is Lady Cecilia’s sister, except for the bulgy eyes.  Towards the end of dinner Mr. Doran got so gay, he talked and laughed so you would not have recognised him, as ordinarily he is a timid little thing.

[Sidenote:  After Dinner]

When we returned to the great drawing-room, it was really comic.  Lady Theodosia did not make any pretence of talking to the people.  Her whole attention was with the “children,” who had just been let loose from her boudoir, where her maid had been keeping them company while we dined.  They were as jealous as possible of Fanny, who never leaves any part of Lady Theodosia she can stick on to.  She is so small that she gets lots of nice rides asleep on the folds of her velvet train.  Most of the company were terrified at this avalanche of dogs, and kept saying, when they came and sniffed and barked at them, “poor doggie,” “nice doggie,” “good doggie,” etc., in different keys of nervousness.  I felt glad Agnes had insisted that I should not put on one of my best dresses.  She highly disapproves of this place.  As well spend the time in the Jardin des Plantes with the cage doors undone, she says!