I ended by saying that few countries really cared for one another. It was not rivalry or jealousy that produced this indifference, but a certain blindness of heart. That we were part of the same family, if we would only realise it, and had had a terrible object lesson in imagining that any of us, however much we prepared or tried, could succeed in crushing the other. We had seen enough hate, and enough death; and that I passionately hoped the English-speaking nations all the world over would try a new departure, and do what they could to promote friendship and love. * * * * * The next day we sailed for England in the _Mauretania_. If I were to finish without criticism, it might be said that these pages should not have been called "Impressions," but "Experiences"; and against this I have not only been warned, but adjured. Nevertheless it is difficult, without appearing unfriendly, to write with candour upon matters that have moved me in my American tour. It must be said that the architecture, regulations of street-traffic, arrangement of flower-shops, plumbing, and telephone service are infinitely superior to our own, but these are not criticisms, they are facts, the truth of which is not disputed. I realise that there is not a nation in the world that extends such a generous welcome to the many strangers that go there as the United States. But admiration for my husband, and the publication of the first volume of my autobiography--which aroused both favourable and unfavourable comment--prevented me at the outset from being a complete stranger. Indeed many of the people who attended my lectures seemed to know all about me; and I was surprised when crowding on to the stage they sometimes exclaimed: "But you are so different to what we expected you would be! And you haven't told us what you think of us." I begged them to be frank, and tell me without fear of offence what they had imagined I would be like; but they could only repeat: "I don't know! But somehow we thought you would be the very opposite of what you are." When I tried a little clumsy chaff by saying: "I am sorry to have disappointed you!" it was always met with a protest; and on one occasion I heard a man say to the woman who was with him: "There you are! I told you all along; but you wouldn't read the book!" at which the woman grasped me by the hand and said: "You are writing another volume of your life aren't you, Mrs. Asquith, in which you will tell us everything you think about us." I explained that I was writing an article on my Impressions of America for immediate publication and the second and final volume of my life which would come out in winter. Flattering cuttings were sent to me from papers, as: "The Margot myth." And others, which said it was abundantly clear that I was in a chastened humour and, by guarding myself from my critics, was exercising a caution that deprived me of all spontaneity; or words to this effect.