"This is a practical joke of the worst kind!" I exclaimed to the gentlemen in attendance, "and not for a million dollars would I insult the Boston people by making myself ridiculous here to-night. I have not been in prison, or divorced; nor have I been to the North or South Pole, or climbed mountains and Matterhorns; I have nothing wonderful to tell about, and instead of one woman shouting, 'Give me back my money--I've had enough of you,' the whole audience will rise to their feet. This is not a hall, it's a railway tunnel! I cannot see the end of it: it's made for engines or aeroplanes"; and I trembled with rage and apprehension. "It's a concert hall, madam, built for oratorios," they replied, pointing to a vast organ decorating the wall behind me. "No doubt drums, trumpets, or opera singers could make themselves heard, but a shrimp of a female standing alone here would make the gods laugh, and nothing will induce me to speak!" "But, dear madam, all Boston is coming to hear you." Mr. Horton put his arm through mine, saying soothingly, "You are tired; let us go back to the hotel." Visibly distressed, the gentlemen of the hall assured me that men of meagre voice had lectured many times and been perfectly heard; and as I walked away I saw through the corner of my eyes that my angelic secretary was nodding to assure them that I would keep my contract. Alone in the taxi I burst into tears, asking what I had done to be so punished; I said that the front rows would be deafened, the centre bewildered, and the balconies indignant. He assured me I had a beautiful voice, an interesting personality and a plucky nature, etc., and that I must certainly go through with it as every seat had been sold. I dressed with streaming eyes and a scarlet nose, and in snow and silence we drove to the Symphony Hall. The platform and auditorium were crowded, and blind with fear, I walked on to the front of the stage. My chairman, Mr. Arthur Hill (Corporation Counsel of the City of Boston), in introducing me spoke with the greatest ease, and I observed that every word he said was heard; but it was obvious from the perfection of his speech that he had addressed a thousand audiences before and this was only my second public appearance. I stood up with my knees knocking together as I looked at the sea of expectant faces below me. Heaven forefend that I should repeat what I said, but for one hour and twenty minutes I did the best I could; beginning with my pleasure at being in America, I continued with stories of my native land, and ended with an account of Windsor Castle and the Disarmament Conference. No president or prime minister could have had a more intelligent, friendly, courteous and responsive audience than the people of Boston. Aching from my ankles to my temples, I bowed to their repeated cheers as, humble and happy, I retired from the stage.