if I
had become alive again here at Harley!

The whole place pleases me. It is an old Georgian house, with long
wings stretching right and left, and from a large salon in the centre
the other reception-rooms open.

Lady Tilchester is so kind, and makes one feel perfectly at home. A
number of people were assembled upon the croquet lawn and in the great
tent playing bridge when we arrived, and as no one seems to introduce
any one it has taken me two whole days to find out people's names.
Some of them, indeed, I have not grasped yet! It does seem a strange
custom. Either it is because every one in this set is supposed to be
acquainted with the other, and strangers are things that do not count,
or that meeting under one roof constitutes an introduction. I have not
yet found out which it is.

Anyway, it makes things dull at first. Augustus found it "deuced
unpleasant," he told me, as, instead of remaining quiet until he knew
his ground, he proceeded to commit a series of _betises_.

The first afternoon I subsided into a low chair, and a gruff-looking
man handed me some tea, and patted and talked to a bob-tailed
sheep-dog that was near.

I don't know if he expected me to answer for the dog, and so make
a conversation. He was disappointed, however, if so, as I remained
silent. Presently I discovered he was our host.

Lady Tilchester was busy being gushed at by Augustus. A little woman
with light hair came and sat down at the other side of me. She looks
like a young, fluffy chicken, and has a lisp and an infantile voice,
and wears numbers of trinkets, and her name, "Babykins," spelled in a
brooch of diamonds. I should not like to be called "Babykins," and I
wonder why one should want strangers to read one's name printed upon
one's chest.

Everything of hers is marked with that. Chain bracelets with
"Babykins" in sapphires and diamonds. On her handkerchief, which she
plays with, "Babykins" again stares at you. Even the corner of her
chemise, which shows through her transparent blouse, has "Babykins"
embroidered on it. It is no wonder even the young men never call her
anything else.

You have the first impression that you are talking to a child,
but afterwards you are surprised to find what a lot of grown-up,
scandalous things she has said.

She was very agreeable to me, and gave me to understand she was so
interested to make my acquaintance, as Lady Tilchester had told her so
much about me.

"You come from Yorksh