"What a beastly lot these German fellows think of themselves and their beastly army! He talks about it as though it were a sort of holy institution compared to which nothing else mattered, and goes clattering about the house with his spurs like a god on wheels. Thank Heaven he is not at home much, or we should be having rows in no time. Yesterday, for instance, I came down at ten for breakfast, and in the afternoon he spoke to me about it as though I were a sort of raw recruit—said it gave Nora a lot of extra work, and that he must ask me to be more punctual. I held my tongue for Nora’s sake, but I longed to give him a bit of my mind in good English. I longed to ask him why, if he is so keen on Nora being spared, he doesn’t see that she has a proper cook and housemaid, why he lets her work like a servant herself whilst he goes off and amuses himself—as I know he does. He can’t be badly off. His uniforms are spotless, and he has a ripping horse, which he rides every day. A lot of riding Nora gets—except now and again on borrowed regimental hacks! As to the theatre, she has only been twice since they were married—it’s too expensive in Berlin forsooth! and I know for a fact that she has not had a new dress. I suppose all Germans treat their wives like that; but it makes my blood boil to think that Nora should have to put up with it. "As to their grand friends, I don’t think much of them. They all seem to live in the same poky style, and the dinner we were invited to the other day fairly did for me. We sat something like two hours over three courses, each one worse than the other, and the people shouted and jabbered as though they were in a monkey-house. What with the food and the bad wine and the row, I hardly knew whether I was on my head or my heels. Wolff and I had a bit of a jar about it afterwards. He said it was _gemütlich_, or whatever the word is, and I said it was beastly and that wild horses wouldn’t drag me into such a show again, whereupon he had the cheek to inform me that I probably wouldn’t be asked and that he thought it was bad form to criticise one’s host because he didn’t happen to be rich. Nora was nearly in tears, so I held my tongue; but you can guess what I felt like. Imagine that foreigner trying to teach _me_ good form! Of course, I know, mother, that you had a weakness for Wolff, but you should see him in his own home—a selfish, bullying martinet, whose head I should be heartily delighted to punch. Perhaps I shall one day. Don’t worry about me, though. I shall be able to look after myself.