Dearest Mops,--I am in a state of abject collapse after rushing after the beagles yesterday, tearing all over the countryside, and leaping wildly over mountainous barriers, so I think I might as well spend my time writing to you, as you have been hurling reproaches at me for my silence. I couldn't possibly attempt letters while Betty was here, for we only had a fortnight, and I didn't get through half what I wanted to say. We enjoyed having her immensely, she's a perfect dear, and very pretty when she takes enough trouble, which isn't by any means always the case. I read her a severe lecture on the subject, and retrimmed her blue hat. I'm sure you'll think it improved. Talking of hats--I can't understand why I am not a lunatic, after all I've experienced with my clothes this spring! Agatha and I went to a tailor's at Hertford and ordered coats and skirts for morning wear. She wasn't in a hurry for hers, but I was simply panting for mine to take to the Goodmans' the next Wednesday, so it was arranged that he should rush on with mine, and that I should go over for a fitting on Monday. My dear, on Monday I was a wreck!--toothache in every joint, chattering with cold, and the rain descended in floods. I ploughed to the station in a sort of dismal, it- is-my-duty-and-I-must kind of stupor; sat in the train with Mrs Ellis, who yelled at me the whole time about the Coal Club, and Mary Jane's little Emma's mumps; staggered along the roads to the tailor's shop, and sat shuddering in his nasty little room with my feet on a slippery oilcloth as cold as ice.