The Diary Of A Provincial Lady: March

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So lie down, close your eyes and let me read you a story. February 14th. Of one first prize in time and tide competition, but again divided, very angry indeed, and right, excellent nutter to the editor under false name, protesting against this iniquitous custom. After it is gone, become seriously uneasy under the fear that the use of a false name is illegal. Look through Whitaker, a confined nothing but stamp duties and concealment of illegitimate births so abandon it and disgust. Write to Angela, under my own name, to inquire kindly if she went in for the competition. Hope she did, and that she will have the decency to say so. February 16th. Enformed by Ethel, as she calls me in the morning, that Helen Wills has had six kittens of which five survive. Cannot imagine how I shall break this news to Robert. Reflect not for the first time, but the workings of nature are most singular. Angela writes that she didn't go in for the competition, thinking the subject purile, but that she solved Moropy's crossword puzzle in fifteen minutes. 10b. This last statement almost certainly inaccurate. February 21st. Remove bulb balls with what is left of bulbs to greenhouse. Tell Robert that I hope to do better another year. He replies, another year better not waste my money. This reply depresses me. Moreover weather continues arctic and have by no means recovered from effects of Lady B's so-called hospitality. Vicky and Mademoiselle spend much time in Boot Cubberd, where Helen Wills is established with five kittens. Robert still unaware of what has happened, but cannot hope this ignorance will continue. Must, however, choose suitable moment for a relation, which is unlikely to occur today, going to Bathwater having been cold again this morning. Lady B calls in the afternoon, not as might have been expected, to see if I'm in bed with pneumonia, but ask if I will help at a bazaar early in May. Further enquire reveals that it is an aid of the party funds. I say, what party? I'm well aware of Lady B's political views, a resent having it taken for granted that mine are the same, which they are not. Lady B says she's surprised. Later on she says, look at the Russians, and even look at the Pope. I find myself telling her to look at unemployment, none of which gets us any further. I'm relieved when tea comes in, and still more so when Lady B says she really mustn't wait as she has to call on such a number of tenants. She asks after Robert, and I think seriously for playing, that he is out receiving the oath of allegiance from all the vassals on the estate, but decide that this would be undignified. Escort Lady B to the hall door. She tells me that the oak dresser would look better on the other side of the hall, and that it is a mistake to put mahogany and walnut in the same room. Her last word is that she will write about the bazaar. Relieve my feelings by waving small red flag belonging to Vicky, which is lying on the hall stand and saying, Alala turn, as chauffeur drives away. Unfortunately Ethel chooses this moment to walk through the hall. She says nothing, but looks astonished. February 22. Gloom prevails, owing to Helen Wills having elected with incredible idiocy to introduce progeny one by one to Robert's notice at late hour last night when he was making final round of the house. Leave long and impart illegible letter from Sissy Crabbe bearing on the back of the envelope extraordinary inquiry. Do you know of a really good hotel man-address? Combat strong inclination to reply in a postcard, no, but can recommend a thoroughly reliable dentist. Dear Sissy, one remembers from old school days as very little sense of humour. February 24. I sit next, elderly gentleman who talks about stag hunting, and tells me that there is nothing cruel about it. The stag likes it, and it is an honest, healthy, thoroughly English form of sport. I say yes, as anything else would be waste of breath, and turn to damage done by recent storms, new arrivals in the neighbourhood, and golf links at Bili Saltotun. Something that we get back to stag hunting again and next to no time, and remain there for the rest of lunch. Can hear Robert's neighbour sitting opposite in cautioneel three-piece suit, telling him about her chill-blanes. Robert civil, but does not appear unduly concerned. Perhaps a three-piece cautioneel thinks that he is one of those people who feel more than they can express. She goes on to pass appendicitis, present sciatica, and threat of colitis in the near future. Robert, still unmoved. Ladies retire to the drawing room and gather round quite inadequate fire. Coffee. I perform my usual sleight of hand, transferring large piece of candy sugar from saucer to handbag, for Vicki's benefit. Query. Why do people living in the same neighbourhood as myself obtain without difficulty minor luxuries that I am totally unable to procure? Why to this, if pursued to logical conclusion, appears to point to inadequate housekeeping on my part. Entrance of males. I hear my neighbour at lunch beginning all over again about stag hunting, this time addressed to his hostess, who is a well-known supporter of the RSBCA. Our member tells to me about football. I say that I think well of the French, and that, beo-tigui, plays a good game. And be. This solitary piece of knowledge always coming in useful, but must try and find out name of at least one British player, so as to vary it. As we take our leave with customary graceful speeches, clasp of handbag, unfortunately gives away, and piece of candy sugar falls, with incredible noise and violence, onto the parquet, and is pursued with a vicious zeal and determination by all present, except myself. Very very difficult moment. Robert and the whole takes this well, merely enquiring on the way home, if I suppose that we shall ever be asked inside the house again. February 28. Codd, and all gratified by, appearance of large clump of crocuses near the front gate. She liked to make whimsical and charming reference to these, and try to fancy myself as Elizabeth of the German garden. But I'm interrupted by Cooke, saying that the fish is here, but he's only brought cod and haddock, and the haddock doesn't smell any too fresh. So what about cod? I've often noticed that life is like that. March 1. The Kellways lunch with us, before going on, altogether, to wedding of Rosemary H, daughter of mutual friend and neighbour. Fire refuses to burn up, and I'm struggling with it when they arrive, with small boy, Vicki's contemporary, all three frozen with cold. I say, do come and get warm, and they accept this, alas, meaningless offer with enthusiasm. Vicki rushes in, and I'm struck, as usual, at the complete and utter straightness of her hair, in comparison with that of practically every other child in the world. Little Kellway has natural wave. Chickens overdone, and potatoes underdone. Morang's quite a success, especially with the children, the leading to brisk sort of voce encounter between Vicki and Mademoiselle, on question of second helping. This ends by an appeal for Mademoiselle for en bon mouvement on Vicki's part, which she facilitates by summarily removing her plate, spoon, and fork. Everybody ignores this drama, for the exception of the infant Kellway, who looks amused, and embellishingly attacks the second Morang. Start directly after lunch. Robert and Mary's husband appearing in a highly unnatural state of shiny smartness with a top hat apiece. Effect of this blood are greatly mitigated when they don the top hats by screams of unaffected amusement from both children. We drive off, leaving them leaning against Mademoiselle, apparently helpless with mirth. Query. Is it not the inferiority complex about which so much is written and spoken nowadays, shifting from the child to the parent? Mary wears blue with admirable diamond ornament and looks nice. I wear red, I think regretfully of great aunt's diamond ring, still reposing in Backstreet of Plymouth, under care of old friend the pawnbroker. Note, financial situation very low indeed, and must positively take steps to send assortment of old clothes to secondhand dealer for disposal. Construct by false air of opulence with which I don fur coat, white gloves and new shoes, one very painful, and get into the car. Irony of life thus exemplified. Charming wedding. Rosemary H. looks lovely, Bridesmaid's highly picturesque. One of them has bright red hair, and I'm completely paralyzed by a devastating quarry for Mary's husband who hisses at me through his teeth. Is that the color yours was when you dyed it? Crowds of people at the reception. No most of them, but I'm startled by strange lady in pink wearing eyeglasses who says that I don't remember her, which is only too true, but that she has played tennis at my house. How she says are those sweet twins. I find myself telling her that they are very well indeed before I know where I am. You can only trust never to set eyes on her again. Exchange talk with Mrs. Summers, recent arrival to the neighborhood. Who apologizes profusely for having never returned my call. I'm in doubt whether to say that I haven't noticed the omission, for that I hope she will repair it as quickly as possible. Either sounds uncivil. Speak to old lady Dufford who reminds me that the last time we met was at the Jones wedding. That she says came to grief within a year. She also asks is I've heard about the greens who have separated and poor Winifred are who said to go back to her parents because he drinks. I'm not surprised when she concludes with observation that it is rather heart-rending to see the two young things setting out together. Large car belonging to bridegroom draws up at hall door and old lady D for the wags are headed me and says ah in our day it would have been a carriage and pier. To which I offer no assent, thinking it very unnecessary reminder of the flight of time. And in any event I'm lady D's junior by a good many years. Melancholy engendered by the whole of this conversation is lightened by a glass of champagne. I ask Robert sentimentally if this makes him think of our wedding. He looks surprised and says no not particularly why should it. As I cannot at the moment think of any particular reply to this the question drops. Departure of the bridal couple is followed by general exodus and we take the killways home to tea. Remove shoes with great thankfulness. March 3rd. Vicki after Hama cries abruptly whether if she died I should cry. I reply in the affirmative but she says should I cry real hard should I roar and scream. Declined commit myself to such extravagant demonstrations at which Vicki displays a tendency to hurt astonishment. I speak to mademoiselle and say that I hope she will discourage anything in Vicki that seems to verge upon the morbid. Vicki recalls a translation of the last word and after some consideration I suggest de nature et at which she screams dramatically and crosses herself and assures me that if I knew what I was saying I would or reculé de foie. We decide to abandon the subject. Our vicar's wife calls for me at seven o'clock and we go to a neighbouring woman's institution at which I have rather rashly promised to speak. On the way there our vicar's wife tells me that the secretary of the institute is liable to have a heart attack at any minute and must on no account exert herself or be allowed to get over excited. Even a violent fit of laughing she adds impressively might carry her off in a moment. Hastily revise my speech and remove from it two funny stories. After this it is a shock to find that the programme for the evening includes dancing and a game of general post. I ask our vicar's wife what would happen if the secretary did get her heart attack and she replies mysteriously, oh she always carries drops in her handbag. The thing to do is to keep an eye on her handbag. This I do nervously throughout the evening but fortunately no crisis supervenes. I speak, I'm thanked and asked if I will judge a darning competition. This I do in spite of inward misgivings. A few people are less qualified to give any opinion about darning than I am. I'm thanked again and given tea and a doughnut. We all play general post and get very heated. Signal success of the evening when two stout and elderly members collide in the middle of the room and both fall heavily to the floor together. This if anything will surely bring on a heart attack and I'm prepared to make a rush at the handbag but nothing happens. We all sing the national anthem and our vicar's wife says she does hope the lights of her two-seater are in order and drives me home. We are relieved and surprised to find that the lights all except the rare one are in order although rather faint. I beg our vicar's wife to come in. She says no no it is rather too late really and comes. Robert and Helen Wills both asleep in the drawing room. Our vicar's wife says she must not stay a moment and we talk about countrywomen, Stanley Baldwin, hotels at Madeira where none of us have ever been and other unrelated topics. Ethel brings in cocoa but can tell from the way she puts down the tray that she thinks it an unreasonable requirement and will quite likely give notice tomorrow. At 11 our vicar's wife says that she does hope the lights of the two-seater are still in order and gets as far as the whole door. There we talk about forthcoming village concert, parrot disease and the bishop of the diocese. Her car refuses to start and Robert and I push it down the drive. After a good deal of jerking and grinding engine starts the hand of our vicar's wife waves at us through the hole in the talc and car disappears down the lane. Robert inauspitably says let us put out the lights and fasten up the whole door and go to bed immediately in case she comes back for anything. We do so only delayed by Helen Wills whom Robert tries vainly to expel into the night. She retires under the piano behind the bookcase and finally disappears altogether. March 4th Ethel as I anticipated gives notice. Cook says this is so unsettling she thinks she had better go too. Despair invades me. Write five letters to registry offices. March 7th No Hope. March 8th Book relents so far as to say that she will stay until I am suited. Feeling inclined to answer that in that case she had better make up her mind to a lifetime spent together but naturally refrain. Spend exhausting day in Plymouth chasing mythical house parlamains. Great Lady B who says the servant difficulty in reality is non-existent. She has no trouble. It is a question of knowing how to treat them. Firmness she says but at the same time one must be human. Am I human? She asks. Do I understand that they want occasional diversion just as I do myself? I lose my head and reply no but it is my custom to keep my servants chained up in the cellar when their work is done. This flight of satire rather spoils my Lady B laughing heartily and saying that I am always so amusing. Well she adds, we shall no doubt see one another at lunchtime at the Duke of Cornwall Hotel. We are alone it is possible to get a decent meal. I reply with ready cordiality that no doubt we shall and go on partake of my usual lunch of baked beans and a glass of water in small and obscure café. Unavoidable query of painfully searching character here presents itself. If Lady B had invited me as her guest to lunch at the D of C Hotel should have accepted. I am conscious of being heartily tired of baked beans and water which in any case do not really serve to support one through long day of shopping and servant hunting. Moreover, I am always ready to see life in hotels or anywhere else. On the other hand, I am aware that self-respect would suffer severely through accepting five shillings worth of luncheon from Lady B. Ponder this problem of psychology and train on the way home but reach no definite conclusion. Day a complete failure is regards House Parliament but expedition not wasted. Having found two cigarette cards on pavement both quite clean curious breaks. Cannot hear of House Parliament. Ethel on the other hand can hear of at least a hundred situations and opulent motor cars constantly dash up to front door containing applicants for her services. Cook more and more unsettled. If this goes on shall go to London and stay with Rose in order to visit agencies. Meet Barbara wearing new tweed in village this morning. Nice bright girl. But long to suggest she should have ananoids removed. She says I'll be an angel and look in on her mother now practically an invalid. I reply warmly of course I will not really meaning it. I remember that we are now in Lent and suddenly decide to go at once. Admire the new tweed. Barbara says it is rather nice isn't it and adds a little strangely that it came out of John Barker's sale catalog and a four guineas and only needed letting out at the waist and taking in a bit on the shoulders. Especially she adds elliptically now that skirts are longer again. Barbara grows the evening service and I go to look in on her mother whom I find in shawls sitting in an armchair reading rather ostentatiously enormous life of Lord Beaconsfield. I ask her how she is and she shakes her head and inquires if I should ever guess that her pet name amongst her friends once used to be Butterfly. This kind of question always so difficult as either affirmative or negative reply apt to sound unsympathetic. Feel it would hardly do suggest that chrysalis and view of the shawls would now be more appropriate. However says Mrs. Blankensop with a sad smile. It is never her way to dwell upon herself in her own troubles. She just sits there day after day always ready to sympathize in the little joys and troubles of others and I would hardly believe how unfailing these these are brought to her. People say she adds deprecatingly that just her smile to some good. She does not know she says what they mean. Neither do I. After this there's a pause and I feel that Mrs. B is waiting for me to pour out my little joys and troubles. She hopes that Robert has been unfaithful to me or that I have fallen in love with the vicar. I am unable to rise to the occasion so begin instead to talk about Barbara's new tweed. Mrs. Blankensop at once replies that for her part she's never given up all those little feminine touches that make all the difference. A rip in hair, a flower there. This leads to a story about what was once said to her by a friend beginning. It's a wonderful dare Mrs. Blankensop to see the trouble you always take on behalf of others and ending with Mrs. B's own reply to the effect that she is only a useless old woman but that she has many many friends that this must be because her motto has always been look out and not in look up and not down lend a hand. Conversation again languishes and I have recourse to Laura Beckinsfield. What I ask does Mrs. B feel about him? She feels, Mrs. B replies, that he has the most remarkable personality. People have often said to Mrs. B, ah, how lonely must be for you alone here when dare Barbara is out enjoying herself with other young things. But Mrs. B replied to this is, no no, she's never alone when she has her books. Books to her are friends. Never Shakespeare or Jane Austen, Meredith or Hardy and she is lost. Lost in a world of her own. She sleeps so little that most of her nights are spent in reading. Have I any idea, asked Mrs. B, what it is like to hear every hour, every half hour, chiming out all through the night. I have no idea whatever, since I'm invariably obliged to struggle with overwhelming sleepiness from nine o'clock onwards. I do not like to tell her this, so take my departure. Mrs. B parting observation is an expression of thanks to me for coming to inquire after an old woman and she is as well as she can hope to be at sixty six years old. She should say sixty six years young, all her friends tell her. Reach home totally unbenefited by this visit with strange tendency to snap at everybody I meet. March 10th. Still no house parlor maid and right to ask Rose if I can go to her for a week. Also write old Aunt Gertrude in Shropshire to inquire if I may send Vicki and Mademoiselle there on a visit, as this will make less work in the house while we are shorthanded. Do not however give Aunt Gertrude this reason for sending them. Ask Robert if he will feel terribly lonely and he says, oh no, he hopes I shall enjoy myself in London. Spend a great deal of eloquence explaining that I am not going to London to enjoy myself, but experience some fear that I am resembling Mrs. Blankensop and stop abruptly. Robert says nothing. March 11th. Rose wires that she would be delighted to put me up. I look very unpleasantly, says I am sure I hope you will enjoy your holiday, Mum. I am precluded for making the kind of reply I should like to make, owing to grave fears that she should also give notice. Tell her instead that I hope to get settled with the house parlor maid before my return. Coco looks utterly incredulous and says she is sure she hopes so too because, really, things have been so unsettled lately. Pretend not to hear this and leave the kitchen. Look through my clothes and find that I have nothing whatever to wear in London. Read in daily mirror that all evening dresses are worn long and realise with horror that not one of mine comes even half way down my legs. March 12th. Collect major portion of my wardrobe and dispatch to address mentioned and advertisement pages of time and tide as prepared to pay highest prices for outworn garments, check by return. I have gloomy foreboding that six penny stants my return will more adequately represent value of my contribution. I am thereby impelled to add Robert's old shooting coat, Macintosh dating from 1907, at least reputable woolen sweater. Custnery struggle ensues between Frank and straightforward course of telling Robert when I am done, and less straightforward but more practical, decision to keep complete silence on the subject and let him make discovery for himself after parcel his left of the house. Conscience as usual is defeated but nevertheless unsalenced. Query. Would it not indicate greater strength of character even if lesser delicacy of feeling not to spend so much time on regretting errors of judgement and of behaviour? Reply almost certainly in the affirmative. Conscient but nebulous outline of powerful article for time and tide here suggests itself is ruthlessness more profitable than repentance. Failing article for which time at the moment is lacking owing to departure of house parliament and necessity of learning wreck of the hisperus to recite at village concert. But this makes suitable subject for debate at a woman's institute. Feel doubtful as to whether Avika's wife would not think subject matter trenching upon ground more properly belonging to Avika. Resigned from Book of the Month Club owing to wide and ever increasing divergence of opinion between us as to merits or demerits of recently published fiction. Write them long and eloquent letter about this, but remember after it is posted that I still owe them twelve shillings and sixpence from Oroz Byron. August 13th. Vicky and Mademoiselle leave in order to pay visit to Aunt Gertrude. Mademoiselle becomes sentimental. As total extent of her absence at this stage is about half an hour and they have three weeks before them, feel that this is not a spirit to be encouraged. See them into the train when Mademoiselle at once produces Urdu cologne in case either or both should feel ill and come home again. Mademoiselle resembles the tomb and the gardener says that Miss Vicky seems such a little bit of a thing to be sent right away like that and it isn't as if she could write and tell me how she was getting on either. Go to bed feeling like a murderous. March 14th. Rather inadequate postal order arrives together with white tennis coat trimmed with a rabid which says accompanying a letter is returned as being unsellable. Should like to know why. Toy with idea of writing to Time and Tide's editor inquiring if every advertisement is subjected to personal scrutiny before insertion but decide that this and the invent of a reply might involve me in difficult explanations and diminish my prestige as occasional recipient of first prize divided in weekly competition. See whether tennis coat could be dyed and transformed into evening cloak. I'm unfortunately found at home by callers. Mr. Mrs. White who was starting a chicken farm in the neighborhood and appeared to have got married on the expectation of making a fortune out of it. We talk about chickens, houses, scenery and the train service between here and London. I ask if they play tennis and politely suggest that they both are probably brilliant performers. Mr. White staggers me by replying oh he wouldn't say that exactly meaning that he would if he didn't seem like boasting. He inquires about tournaments. Mrs. White is reminded of tournaments in which they have or have not come out victors in the past. They refer to their handicap resolve never to ask the whites to play in our extremely inferior court. Later on talk about politicians. Mr. White says that in his opinion Lloyd George is clever but nothing else. That's all says Mr. White impressively. Just clever. I refer to coalition government and insurance act but Mr. White repeats firmly that both were brought about by mere cleverness. He adds a Baldwin is a thoroughly honest man and that Ramsay MacDonald is weak. Mrs. White supports him with an irrelevant statement to the effect that the Labour Party must be hand in glove with Russia otherwise how would the Bolsheviks dare to go on like that? She also suddenly adds that prohibition and everything are really the thin edge of the wedge don't I think so. I say yes I do that's the quickest way of ending the conversation and ask if she plays the piano to which she says no but the ukulele a little bit. And we talk about local shops and the delivery of a Sunday paper. Note amenities of conversation afford very very curious study sometimes especially in the country. Whites take their departure. Hope never to set eyes upon either of them again. March 15th. Robert discovers absence of Macintosh dating from 1907 says that he would rather have lost 100 pounds which I know to be untrue. I can't make up my mind whether to tell him at once about shooting coat and sweater and get it all over in one or leave him to find out for himself when present painful impression has a time to die away. Ray of light pierces impenetrable gloom when Robert is driven to inquire if I can tell him a word for calmer in seven letters and I after some thought suggest Serena which he says will do and returns to Times crossword puzzle later he asks for famous mountain in Greece does not accept my too hasty offer of Mount Atlas nor listen to interesting explanation as to a so to to links between Greece Hercules and Atlas which are proper after going to it at some length I perceive that Robert is not attending and retired to bed. March 17th. Travel up to London with Barbara Blinkensob wearing new tweed who says she is going to spend a fortnight with old school friend and stratham and is looking forward to the Italian art exhibition. I am too and ask after Mrs B. Barbara says she is wonderful. We discuss girl guides and exchange surmises why Mrs T at the post office is no longer in speaking terms with Mrs L at the shop. Later on conversation takes a more intellectual turn and we agree that the parish magazine needs brightening up. I suggest a crossword puzzle and Barbara says a children's page Paddington has reached just as we decide that it would be hopeless to try and get a contribution to the parish magazine from anyone really good such as Shaw Bennett or Galsworthy. I ask Barbara to tea at my club one day next week she accepts and we part. Met by Rose who has a new hat and says that no one is wearing a brim which discourages me partly because I have nothing but brims partly because I know only too well that I shall look my worst without one. Confide this fair to Rose who says why not go to well known beauty culture establishment and find a way to make a difference. I look at myself in the glass see much room for improvement and agree to this only stipulating that all should be kept secret is the grave as cannot tolerate the idea of Lady B's comments should she ever come to hear of it. Make appointment by telephone. In the meantime says Rose what about the Italian art exhibition she herself has already been four times I say yes yes. It is one of the things have come to London for but you prefer to go earlier in the day then says Rose the first thing tomorrow morning to this I reply with every sign of reluctance that tomorrow morning must be devoted to registry offices. Well says Rose and shall we go let us I urge settle that a little later on on a no better what I'm doing. Can see that Rose thinks anything but well of me but she's too tactful to say more quite realize that I shall have to go to the Italian exhibition sooner or later and I'm indeed quite determined to do so. I feel certain that I shall understand nothing about it when I do go there and shall find myself involved in terrible difficulties when asked my impressions afterwards. Rose's cook as usual produces a marvelous dinner and I remember with shame and compassion that Robert at home is sitting down to minced beef and macaroni cheese followed by walnuts. Rose says that she is taking me to dinner tomorrow with distinguished woman writer who is marvelous collection of Jade to meet still more distinguished professor female and others. Decided to go and buy an evening dress tomorrow regardless of overdraft. March 18th very successful day although Italian art exhibition still and visited memorandum positively must go there before meeting Barbara for tea at my club. Visit several registry offices and I'm told that maids do not like the country which I know already and that the wages I'm offering are low. Come away from their depressed I decide to cheer myself up by purchasing evening dress which I cannot afford with present day waste which does not suit me. Select the Brompton road is likely to contain what I want and crawl up it scrutinizing windows. Come face to face with Barbara Blinkensob who says how extraordinary we should meet here. Twitter replied that that is so often the way when one comes to London. She is she tells me just on her way to the Italian exhibition. I at once say goodbye and plunge into elegant establishment with expensive looking garments in the window. Try on five dresses but find judgment of their merits very difficult as hair gets wilder and wilder and nose more devoid of powder. I'm also worried by extraordinary and tactless tendency of saleswoman to emphasize the fact that all the colours I like are trying by daylight but will be less so at night. Finally settle on silver tissue with large bow. Stipulate for its immediate delivery. I'm told that this is impossible. Reluctantly agree to carry it with me in a cardboard box and go away wondering if it wouldn't have been better to choose the black chiffon instead. Hope that beauty parlor experiment may enhance self respect a present at rather low ebb. I'm chaired by going into fullers and sending boxes of chocolates to Robin and Vicky respectively. Add peppermint creams from Amazelle by an afterthought as otherwise you may find yourself blasé. Lunch on Oxtail soup lobster mayonnaise and cup of coffee as being menu furthest removed from that attainable home. Beauty parlor follows. Feel that a good deal could be written on this experience and even contemplate in connection with recent observations exchanged between Barbara B. and myself writing the pages of our parish magazine with result of my reflections. But on second thoughts abandon this as unlikely to appeal to the editor or Vicker. I'm received by utterly terrifying person with dazzling complexion and to go blue hair and orange nails presiding over reception room downstairs. I'd eventually passed on to extremely pretty little creature with Auburn Bob and charming smile. I'm reassured. I'm taken to discrete curtain cubicle and put into long chair. Subsequent operations which take hours and hours appear to consist of the removal of hundreds of layers of dirt from my face. These discreetly explained away by charming operator as the result of acidity. She also plucks away portions of my eyebrows. Very, very painful operation. Eventually emerge more or less unrecognizable and greatly improved. Lose my head and buy foundation cream, rouge, powder, lipstick. Forsee grave difficulty in reconciling Robert to the use of these appliances but decide not to think about this for the present. Go back to Rose's flat and time to dress for dinner. She tells me that she spent the afternoon at the Italian exhibition. March 19th. Rose takes me to dine with talented group of her friends connected with feminist movement. I wear new frock and for once in my life I'm satisfied with my parents but still regret great aunt's diamond ring now brightening Pawnbroker's establishment backstreet Plymouth. I'm however compelled to make strong act of will in order to banish all recollection of bills that will subsequently come in from beauty parlor and dressmaker. I'm able to succeed in this largely owing to charms of distinguished feminists all as kind as possible. Well-known professor concerning whom I have previously consulted Rose as to the desirability of reading up something about molecules or other kindred topic for conversational purposes. Completely overcommonst me by producing with a charming smile two cigarette cards as she has heard that I collect them for Robin. After this, there are all idea of molecules to the winds and I'm happier for the rest of the evening in consequence. Editor of well-known literary weekly also present and actually remembers that we met before at literary club dinner. I discover towards the end of the dinner that she has not visited the Italian exhibition and give Rose a look that I hope she takes to heart. Cocktails and a wholly admirable dinner further bright in the evening. I sit next editor and she rather rashly encourages me to give my opinion of her paper. I do so freely thanks to cocktail and editors charming manners which combined to produce in me the illusion that my words are witty, valuable and thoroughly well worth listening to. I'm but too well aware that later in the night I shall wake up in cold sweat and view this scene in retrospect with very different feelings as to my own part in it. Rose and I take our leave just before midnight sharing taxi with a very well-known woman dramatist. She much like Lady B to know this and have every intention of making casual mention to her of it at earliest possible opportunity. Good night.