e to bring a
Sunday bonnet. They have all rushed into S. Clements to furbish
themselves for the occasion, and we are left to the company of the
small Druces. Neither Margaret nor Emily chooses to go, and will
keep my mother company.

I ventured on administering a sovereign apiece to Isa and Jane
Druce. The first blushed and owned that it was very welcome, as her
wardrobe had never recovered a great thunderstorm at Oxford. Jane's
awkwardness made her seem as if it were an offence on my part, but
her mother tells me it made her very happy. Her father says that
she tells him he was hard on Avice, a great favourite of his, and
that I must ask Jane to explain, for it is beyond him. It is all
right about the Oxford girl. I have engaged her, and she goes home
to-morrow to prepare herself. This afternoon she is delighted to
assist her young ladies in their preparations. I liked her much in
the private interview. I was rather surprised to find that it was
'Miss Avice,' of whom she spoke with the greatest fervour, as having
first made friends with her, and then having constantly lent her
books and read to her in her illness.

15.--S. Swithun is evidently going to be merciful to us to-day, and
the damsels have been indefatigable--all, that is to say, but the
two Londoners, who have lawn tennis dresses, and their mother's maid
to turn them out complete. Isa brought home some tulle and white
jessamine with which she is deftly freshening the pretty compromise
between a bonnet and a hat which she wears on Sunday; also a
charming parasol, with a china knob and a wreath of roses at the
side. She hopes I shall not think her extravagant, but she had a
little money of her own.

Jane Druce displays two pairs of gloves and two neckties for herself
and her sister; and after all Meg will not go; she is so uncouth
that her mother does not like her to go without her own supervision;
and she with true Bourne Parva self-appreciation and exclusiveness
says--

"I'm sure I don't want to go among a lot of stupid people, who care
for nothing but fine clothes and lawn tennis."

There was a light till one o'clock last night in the room where
Avice sleeps with Charley and the dog; and I scarcely saw either of
the Oxford sisters or Jane all this morning till dinner-time, when
Pica appeared very appropriately to her name, turned out in an old
black silk dress left behind by her mother, and adorned with white
tulle in all sorts of folds,