h life had taught me to get up
with the chickens. But it was not done in London. The second morning
the early sun was too much for me. I dressed, left the hotel, and
walked for several hours before a perfect servant brought shining plates
and marmalade, fruit and coffee to my big husky football player's
bedside. I have lived many years in Europe, but I have never grown used
to having breakfast brought to my room.

That second rainy morning Tom left me alone with the promise of being
back for luncheon. I picked up a London morning paper and glanced at
the personal column. I have read it every day since when I could get
hold of the London Times. All of human nature and the ups and downs of
man are there, from secondhand lace to the mortgaged jewels of
broken-down nobility, from sporting games and tickets for sale to
relatives wanted, and those mysterious, suggestive, unsigned messages
from home or to home. I read the news of the war. We in America did
not know there was a war. But Greece and Crete were at each other's
throats, and Turkey was standing waiting to crowd the little ancient
nation into Armenia or off the map. There was the Indian famine--We did
not talk about it at home, but it had first place in the London paper.
And the Queen's birthday,--it was to be celebrated by feeding the poor
of East London and paying the debts of the hospitals. There was
something so humane, so kindly, so civilized about it all! "I love
England," I said, and that first impression balanced the scale many a
time later when I did not love her.

The third or fourth day brought an invitation to dine at a famous house
on Grosvenor Square--with a duke!

I pestered my husband with questions. What should I wear? What should
I talk about? He just laughed.

The paper had reported a "levee ordered by the queen", describing the
gowns and jewels worn by the ladies.

I had little jewelry--a diamond ring, which Tom gave me before we were
married, a bracelet, two brooches, and a string of gold beads, which
were fashionable in America. I put them all on with my best bib and
tucker. When we were dressed, Tom gave me one look and said, "Why do
you wear all that junk?" I took off one of the brooches and the string
of gold beads.

When our carriage drew up to the house on Grosvenor Square, liveried
servants stood at each side of the door, liveried servants guided us
inside. There was a gold carpet, paintings of ladies and gentl