ment, and, above all things, the power to admire, without which
Wordsworth says we cannot live.

After talking to Mr. Balfour, my host Mr. Vanderbilt--a man of
character, who cares little for entertainments--showed me his bedroom
and his library.

The morning after the ball I contracted a chill which filled me with
despair. Having to lecture that afternoon (my fifth in America and
second in New York), it was vital to remove the unfortunate impression
that sitting down and reading about horses had created upon my first
appearance. Unless my secretary cuts out and pins upon my letters press
criticisms of myself, I do not look at them, and I had hardly been aware
of the severity with which I had been taken to task the day after my
first lecture. People are too strong and busy in New York City to notice
if you are ill or not; they have paid their dollars and are not likely
to listen to what bores them; they wanted a little local gossip about my
husband, Mr. Lloyd George, or Princess Mary's trousseau. I did not mind
the abuse as I am press-proof, but I did not want to disappoint my
manager, Mr. Lee Keedick, a competent, kind man, quite unmercenary, and
interested in his client's success, as much from an artistic as a
business point of view; or my secretary, Mr. Horton, with whom I have
contracted a lasting friendship.

Knowing that I had to speak not only that afternoon but the next night
at Brooklyn, I reassured them by saying that in spite of my chill I was
going to stand, walk about and amuse the audience by stories of
Gladstone, Tennyson, Kitchener, politics, duels and drink. I did not add
that I was so nervous that I would have to hold my head up high as, if I
dropped it, I would certainly collapse.

My dear friend, Mr. Paul Cravath, in introducing me, made an admirable
speech and was more than helpful and encouraging.

I wish I could remember and write down what my chairmen say of me or of
my husband, but I am far too anxious to listen, and a cannon ball going
off would not prevent me from struggling to remember my speech, in spite
of knowing that "Ladies and Gentlemen" will be as far as my memory will
take me.

When I stood up, after bowing with challenging languor, I spoke in a
slow and deliberate manner which seemed as if it came from another
person. I never looked at my notes until the end of the lecture, and
after I sat down the audience was enthusiastic. My son-in-law, Prince
Bibesco, a man of acute and ar