le.

It is a much simpler affair than a presentation at home; one need not
even wear veils and feathers, and the trains of our white satin gowns
were modest as to length. It was silly to be nervous about such a
little thing, but I quite shook with terror. I think it was the being
passed along by A.D.C.'s that unnerved me, but when I reached the last
and heard "To be presented," and my name shouted out, I stotted
(do you know the Scots word to stot? It means to walk blindly--to
stumble--that and much more; oh! a very expressive word) over a length
of red carpet that seemed to stretch for miles, feeling exactly as a
Dutch wooden doll looks; saw, as in a glass darkly, familiar faces
that smiled jeeringly, or encouragingly, I could not be sure which;
ducked feebly and uncertainly before the two centre figures; and,
gasping relief, found myself going out of the doorway walking on G.'s
train.

Afterwards, when we were all gathered upstairs, the many pretty gowns
and uniforms made a gay sight. I saw the dearest little Maharanee
blazing in magnificent jewels and looking so scared, and shy, and
sweet. There was a supper-room, and lots to eat if one could have got
at it, or had had room to eat it after it had been got. I don't like
champagne--"simpkin" they call it here--much to drink, but I like it
less when it is shot down my back by a careless man.

There is a fancy-dress ball to-night at Government House, and that is
the last of my dissipations for some time to come.

I go on writing, writing all the time about my own affairs and never
even mention your letters, and nothing makes me so cross as to have
people do that to me. I like my friends to make interested comments on
everything I tell them.

I am glad you are so happy in your work and enjoy life. Is the book
nearly finished yet? It is nice that you have found such charming
friends. Is the Fraeulein person you talk about pretty? I can imagine
how you enjoy hearing her play and singing to her accompaniment. I
always think of you when I hear good music, and of your face when I
told you that the only music I really liked was Scots songs played
on the pianola! But you know that is really true. I simply hate good
music.

Once, in Paris, I went with some people to hear _Samson et Delilah_,
and while everyone sat rapt, enchanted by the sweet sounds, I waited
with what patience I could till the stage temple fell, in the vain
hope that some part would hit the tenor. What w