In Paris, at the restaurants one goes to, there is only the one class—­unless, of course, one is doing Montmartre, but I mean the best ones bourgeoises would not think of thrusting themselves in; and in London there is only the Ritz and Carlton where one goes, and it is the rarest thing certainly at the Ritz to see any awful people there.  But here, heaps of the most ordinary are very rich and think they have the best right, which of course they have if they pay, to enter the most select places; so the conglomeration even at Sherry’s sometimes is too amusing, and at the mirror place, which society would only go to as a freak, the company is beyond description.  But they all seem such kindly, jolly people, all amusing themselves, and gay and happy.  I like it, and the courtesy and fatherly kindness of the men to the women is beautiful, and a lesson to the male creatures of other nations.  I have not yet seen an American man who is not the cavalier servante of his wife and sisters and daughters.  And what flowers they send one!  Everything is generous and opulent.

The dance was such fun, a bal blanc, as only young people were asked, and they all come without chaperones, so sensible, and all seemed to have a lovely romp, and enjoy themselves in a far, far greater degree than we do.  It was more like a tenants’ ball or a children’s party, they seemed so happy; and towards the end lots of the girls’ hair became untidy and their dresses torn, and the young men’s faces damp and their collars limp.

The house was a perfectly magnificent palace, far up on Fifth Avenue, which has been built so lately that the taste is faultless; but it was a rather new family gave the dance, whom Valerie has not yet received.  She thinks she will next year, because the daughter is so lovely and admired, and everyone else knows them.

At the beginning of the evening some of the girls looked beautiful, but as a rule much too richly dressed, like married women; only when even the most exquisite creatures get hot and dishevelled the charm goes off—­don’t you think so, Mamma?  It is more like France than England, as there is very little sitting out; one just goes to the buffet.  And there is always the cotillon; but the favours and flowers are much better than anyone would have in Paris.  The girls must get quite rich in trinkets at the end of a season.

We are told a real ball, where the married women are, is much more range, and one does not see people get so untidy.  But all the balls are over now, so we shall not be able to judge.

What struck us most was the young people seemed much more familiar with each other than we should ever allow them to be; just like playful brothers and sisters, not a bit loverish, but almost as if it could develop into what they call “rough-housing” in a minute, although it never did at the dance.

“Rough-housing” is throwing your neighbour’s bread across the table at someone else, and he throwing his table napkin back at you, and yelling and screaming with mirth; and it often ends with being mauled and pulled about, and water being poured down someone’s neck.