On another occasion, years later, she came as our guest to my sister and myself at Torquay. Up to Christmas we had revelled in sunshine, driving every day in an open carriage, and to this we invited her; also choosing for her the room with the finest view. But she came for a week of fog, such (so we were told) as Torquay had never before known. We had one or two misty drives, and the view was rarely visible. But she took it as it came with placid sweetness, working, reading, or talking, and was the least exacting guest we had ever known. And, afterwards, she could only recall the fact of complete restfulness, forgetting that there had been a fog. Here is a note by Miss Crane to the same effect— “Twice we all joined her summer holiday—once at La Bourboule, and another time at Schlangenbad. I remember how she used to enter into the pleasure and fun of our little afternoon teaparties, given alternately by her party and ours, each vying with the other in making the most of our limited paraphernalia. And how she enjoyed the German custom of taking meals _al fresco_ on every possible occasion, in spite of gnats and other buzzing insects! She was always quick to see and enter into fun, taking pains to enlighten those whose perceptions were less keen. Her hearty laugh filled one with joy.” The same thing is given in greater detail by Miss Bird, who says— “I had known Miss Buss for years, and always felt attracted to her, but I never knew her in her unreserved moods until that visit to Kissingen, in 1882. We were all up in the morning betimes, and used to meet on the Parade to drink the waters. There were some wonderful bread-stalls, with an astonishing variety of fancy breads and innocent cakes, where we bought bread for our breakfast, and also laid in a stock for afternoon tea. We were a party of eight, and we used to take turns in giving each other tea. When it came to Miss Buss’ turn to entertain, she used to take pains to select her cakes, that we all felt eclipsed. We called her ‘ostentatious,’ and ‘vulgar,’ and ‘low,’ and she rippled with merriment, and seemed to enjoy being treated as an ordinary human being. She was taking ‘mud baths’—that look as formidable and ugly as they sound—a sort of peat mixture that is supposed to draw from the body all its aches and pains. I had seen in a window the picture of a woman emerging from her ‘mud,’ and when Miss Buss was fractious, and made excuses for not joining in the light frivolities of the place, I used to say, ‘Well, if you refuse, I will post that picture to the College to be exhibited, and the pupils will then see the degradation of Miss Buss!’ This threat acted like magic, and, laughing heartily, she used to comply. She grew bright and light-hearted, and contributed her full share of amusing stories.”