I went to get the photograph of you I always have on my dressing-table, to show it to Lady Theodosia, and I met quite a troop of tourists on the stairs, and all the place railed off with fat red cords, and everything being explained to them by a guide who has the appearance of a very haughty butler, and lives here just to do this, and look after the things.  The tourists stared at me because I was inside the rope, just as if I had been a Royalty, and whispered and nudged one another, and one said, “Is that Lady Theodosia?” and I felt inclined to call out “No, not by twelve stone.”  It was funny seeing them.  The housekeeper hates it; she says it takes six housemaids the rest of the day removing their traces, and getting rid of the smell.  And as for the Bank Holiday ones, they have no respect for the house at all.  Lady Theodosia told me the housekeeper came to her nearly weeping after the last one.  “Oh, my lady,” she said, “they treats us as if we was ruins.”

Mr. Harrington had not been allowed to shoot, because the St. Bernard and Fluff hated their muzzles so, when they were tried on, that he had to go in to the local harness-maker and have them altered under his own eye.  He got back just as we were starting for lunch, and Lady Theodosia made him come with us, and sent the groom on with the lunch carts.  She drives one of those old-fashioned, very low pony-shays, with a seat up behind for the groom, and two such ducks of ponies.  There hardly seemed room for me beside her, and the springs seemed dreadfully down on her side.  She generally sits in the middle when alone, Mr. Harrington told me afterwards.  She noticed about the springs herself, and said, “Frederick, you must lean all your weight on the other side.”  We must have looked odd going along; I squashed in beside her with a poodle and Fanny at my feet, and poor Mr. Harrington clinging to one side like grim death, so as to try and get the balance more level.  It seemed quite a long drive, and lunch was laid out on a trestle table in a farmhouse garden, and was a splendid repast, with hot entrees, and Lady Theodosia had some of them all.

[Sidenote:  Mr. Doran’s Philanthropy]

It appears Captain Fieldin and Sir Augustus Grant are constantly staying here; they help to ride Mr. Doran’s horses and shoot his birds.  They are all old friends, and rather hard up, so Mr. Doran just keeps them.  He—­Mr. Doran—­seems different after meals; from being as quiet as a lamb, he gets quite coarse and blunt.  The rest of the party were just the kind of neighbours that always come to shoot.  Mr. Roper told me they never have smart parties, with only the best shots, and heaps of beautiful ladies.  Mr. Doran asks just any one he likes, or he happens to meet, and the shooting is some of the best in England, and awfully well preserved.