a Valentine on the 14th—­designed by the young ladies.  He said ’I knew where it came from—­by the word BOPP.  Zis is ze only establishment in England where the word BOPP is known.’  He’s a great man—­and the Teutonic element must prevail.  The Kelts are very charming, but they will GO.  We’ve the same facial angle as the Hindoo, but poor Mrs. S——­ can’t see it.  Dr. A——­ says I must have some sleep—­so I’ve given up Sanscrit—­You can’t do everything even in bed.  And it’s English when all’s done—­and Brown speaks it as well as I do!! Go to India, Julie, if ever you have the chance, and talk to the natives—­they’ll understand you.  They understand me.  Signor Ricci sometimes does NOT.  But then he speaks the modern—­the base—­Italian, and I—­the classic.  He said, ’I do not understand you, Mees M——.’  I said, ’E vero, Signor—­I know you don’t.  But that’s because I speak classic Italian.  All the organ-boys understand me.’  And he smiled.  Dear, dear!  How pleasant it is to see a Gatty—­but I wish you didn’t look so white—­when I see other people suffer, and think of all the years of health I’ve enjoyed, I never can be thankful enough—­and when I’ve paid my monthly bills I’m the happiest woman in England.  When I think of how much I have and how little I deserve, I don’t know what to do but say my prayers.  Dear, I’m sorry I told you that story about X——.  If she sent this morning for L10 I must let her have it, if I had to go out and borrow it.  I am going out—­the Dr. says I must.  In the holidays I go on the balcony—­and look down into the street—­and see the four-in-hands—­and the policemen—­and the han(d)som cabmen (they’re most of them gentlemen—­and some of them Irish gentlemen), and I say—­’Such is life!’ And poor Mrs. S——­ says ’Is it, Miss M——?’ and I know I speak sharply to her, which I should not do.  And I go into Kensington Gardens—­and see the Princess—­and the Ducks in the water—­and the little ragged boys going to bathe—­and I say ‘This is a glorious world!’ I saw Lord—­Lord—­dear me!  I know his name as well as my own—­Lord—­Lord—­Oh Lord! he believes in Tichborne—­K——­, that’s it—­Lord K——­ in the Row.  He always asks after me.  HE married a woman—­well.  No more about that.  He couldn’t get a divorce.  HER sister married a parson.  SHE was the mother of that poor woman—­you know—­who was murdered by those people—­THEY lived two streets off Derby House—­the brother—­a handsome man—­lived opposite Gipsey Hill Station.  You know that? Well. His wife had a bunch of curls behind (I hate curls and bunches behind—­keep your hair clean and put it up simply).  SHE—­got off and so did HE.  THEY—­that’s the parson and his wife—­wrote to Lord K——­ and said ‘Lady K——­ is dead,’ He said ‘Then bury her.’ and he married again at once.  SHE was a Miss A., and she said—­’I marry him because I’ve been told to’—­but that’s neither here nor there, and these things occur.  ANN! is that you?  My dear, how black you are under the eyes—­DO, Julie, try and take better care of yourself—­and keep quiet.  If I were Major Ewing I’d thrash you if you didn’t.  Coming, Ann!—­What was it?—­Oh, Lord K——­ and Tichborne—­well—­just let me shut the door.  He IS Tichborne—­but he murdered him.  That’s the secret.