Before I left England I had a very strange, almost an overwhelming presentiment that I had better not come to Russia.  I had by that time promised Mrs. Wynne that I would come, and I couldn’t see that it would be the right thing to chuck her.  I thought the work would suffer if I stayed at home, as she might find it impossible to get any other woman who would pay her own way and consent to be away for so long a time.  Our prayers are always such childish things—­prayer itself is only a cry—­and I remember praying that if I was “meant to stay at home” some substitute might be found for me.  This all seems too absurd when one views it in the light of what afterwards happened.  My vision of “honour” and “work” seem for the moment ridiculous, and yet I know that I was not so foolish as I seem, for I got a written statement from Mr. Hume Williams (Mrs. Wynne’s trustee), saying, “A unit has been formed, consisting of Mrs. Wynne, Miss Macnaughtan, etc., and it has been accepted by the Russian Red Cross.”  The idea of being in Russia and having to look for work never in my wildest moments entered my head—­and this is the end of the “vision,” I suppose.

Russian Christmas Day.—­Took a car and went for a short run into the country.  Weather fine and bright.

There is severe fighting in Galicia, and the rumour is that Urumiyah—­the place to which I am going—­has been evacuated.

My impression of Russia deepens—­that it is run by beautiful women and rich men; and yet how charming everyone is to meet!  Hardly anyone is uninteresting, and half the men are good-looking.  The Cossack-dress is very handsome, and nearly everyone wears it.  When the colour is dark red and the ornaments are of silver the effect is unusually good.  They all walk well.  One is amongst a primitive people, but a remarkably fine one!

10 January.—­I am taking French lessons.  This would appear to be a simple matter, even in Russia, but it has taken me three weeks to get a teacher.  The first to come required a rest, and must decline; the second was recalled by an old employer; the third had too many engagements; the fourth came and then holidays began, as they always do!  First our Christmas, then the Russian Christmas, then the Armenian Christmas, leading on to three New Year Days!  After that the Baptism, with its holidays and its vigils.

There is only one sort of breakfast-roll in this hotel which is soft enough to eat; it is not made on festivals, nor on the day after a festival.  I can honestly say we hardly ever see one.

With much fear and trembling I have bought a motor-car.  No work seems possible without it.  The price is heavy, but everyone says I shall be able to get it back when I leave.  All the same I shake in my shoes—­a chauffeur, tyres, petrol, mean money all the time.  One can’t stop spending out here.  It is like some fate from which one can’t escape.  Still the car is bought, and I suppose now I shall get work.