Jane Druce displays two pairs of gloves and two neckties for herself and her sister; and after all Meg will not go; she is so uncouth that her mother does not like her to go without her own supervision; and she with true Bourne Parva self-appreciation and exclusiveness says—­

“I’m sure I don’t want to go among a lot of stupid people, who care for nothing but fine clothes and lawn tennis.”

There was a light till one o’clock last night in the room where Avice sleeps with Charley and the dog; and I scarcely saw either of the Oxford sisters or Jane all this morning till dinner-time, when Pica appeared very appropriately to her name, turned out in an old black silk dress left behind by her mother, and adorned with white tulle in all sorts of folds, also a pretty white bonnet made up by Avice’s clever fingers, and adorned with some soft gray sea-birds’ feathers and white down.  Isa and Metelill were very well got up and nice.  Metelill looks charming, but I am afraid her bouquet is from one of those foolish pupils.  She, as usual, has shared it with Isa, who has taken half to prevent her cousin being remarkable.  And, after all, poor Avice is to be left behind.  There was no time to make up things for two, and being in mourning, she could not borrow, though Metelill would have been too happy to lend.  She says she shall be very happy with the children, but I can’t help thinking there was a tear in her eye when she ran to fetch her dress cloak for Jane, whom, by the bye, Avice has made wonderfully more like other people.  Here is the waggonette, and I must finish to-morrow.

16.—­We have had a successful day.  The drive each way was a treat in itself, and the moon rising over the sea on our way home was a sight never to be forgotten.  Hollybridge is charming in itself.  Those grounds with their sea-board are unique, and I never saw such Spanish chestnuts in England.  Then the gardens and the turf!  One must have lived as long in foreign parts as we have to appreciate the perfect finish and well-tended look of such places.  Your dear old chief does not quite agree.  He says he wants space, and is oppressed with the sense of hedges and fences, except when he looks to the sea, and even there the rocks look polished off, and treated by landscape gardeners!  He walked me about to see the show places, and look at the pictures, saying he had been so well lionised that he wanted some one to discharge his information upon.  It was great fun to hear him criticising the impossibilities of a battle-piece—­ Blenheim, I think—­the anachronisms of the firearms and uniforms, and the want of discipline around Marlborough, who would never have won a battle at that rate.  You know how his hawk’s eye takes note of everything.  He looked at Metelill and said, “Uncommonly pretty girl that, and knows it,” but when I asked what he thought of Isabel’s looks, he said, “Pretty, yes; but are you sure she is quite aboveboard?  There’s