Now and then, when Lady Theodosia could bring herself to remember she had a party, she would make a dash at some one, and as likely as not call them by a wrong name.  Lady Devnant and Mrs. de Lacy and the few more county people made a little ring with her by themselves, and gradually the doctors’, and parsons’, and lawyers’ families got together, and so things settled down, and we were getting on quite nicely when the men came in.  It did all seem queer after the extreme ceremony and politeness in France.  When she had fed them, Lady Theodosia seemed to think her duty to her guests had ended.

Mr. Doran was still as gay as possible, and insisted upon Mrs. Pluffield singing; it was a love-and-tombstone kind of song, and sounded so silly and old-fashioned.  And after that lots of people had to sing, and I felt so sorry for them; but soon their carriages came, and they were able to go home; if I were they nothing would induce me to come again.

I got up early to write this as the post goes at an unearthly hour, so now I must go down to breakfast.—­Good-bye, dear Mamma, your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

Retby,

September 22nd.

[Sidenote:  Settling Down]

Dearest Mamma,—­I was surprised yesterday when I got down to breakfast to find Lady Theodosia already there.  She is awfully active, and puffs about everywhere like a steam-engine.  She will pour out the tea and coffee herself, and there is just the one long table, not a lot of little ones like at Nazeby; but our party is quite small, the four other guns were to come from the neighbourhood.  Lady Theodosia asks you if you take sugar and cream, and then perhaps a dog takes off her attention, and as likely as not, when she remembers the pouring out, you get just what you have said you don’t take.  I wonder she does not leave it to the servants.

Mr. Doran was as quiet as a mouse, and said he had a bad headache.  The three other men had enormous breakfasts, and did not speak much, except that Captain Fieldin asked if we were not coming out to lunch; and Lady Theodosia said of course we were—­she intended to drive me in her pony carriage.  When they had all started, she took me back to the boudoir, as it was a Wednesday, and the state apartments were on show, and she hates meeting the tourists from Bradford.  I think it must be dreadful having to let everybody look through your home, just because you have fine pictures, and it is historical, and a prince got murdered there a hundred years ago.  Mr. Doran inherited it through his mother, I think you said, as there are no Lord Retbys left.

[Sidenote:  A Show Place]