"It's all too profound for me, though I am sixteen and should be, they tell me, a dignified young lady. Indeed aunt is planning to have me introduced at court. "I must tell you what a bore little Lord Nobury is getting to be. It's partly Aunt Mogridge's fault. Anything with a title she loves and, though she deplores the way young men gamble, and I think her beautiful son--he's yet in Virginia, thank Heaven--hasn't much money to squander, she boasts of his losses at 'hazard' to Lord Nobury. "He was the first specimen, Nobury, I mean, that I met. I hadn't been at aunt's more than a day before he called. I'd been awfully seasick on the voyage and the sight of him nearly brought on another attack. It seemed that aunt had been singing my praises to him before I arrived. Well, he bowed very low and, had he remained in that posture, I might have liked him, for his clothes were gorgeous; a coat of creamy velvet, a wonderful waistcoat with gold embroidery, black velvet breeches, white silk stockings, shoes with gold buckles and the lace at his wrists and neck was so fine I was actually envious. "He began to talk right away about the theatres. Of course I was so ignorant of it all that I could only listen. He said I must see Garrick at the Drury Lane and I hope I may. "The little 'macaroni' is so short that he wears very high heels and has his hair done up high in front. You ought to see the wonderful and fearful things they do with their hair, both ladies and gentlemen. "After learning I didn't know anything about the theatres, though of course I had read about them at home, he seemed at a loss what to talk about, and his face looked so blank and pasty I wished old Doctor Atterbury could have been there to prescribe for his liver. "I turned the conversation to horses by telling him I thought those in the Old Dominion were much superior to those in England and then went on to tell him about the time I got on Moleskin's back against orders and how he ran away with me when he heard the baying of Squire Dupont's hounds. The little lord declared with a smirk that I must have looked like an aboriginal Indian princess. I asked him why not rather like an original one, and he stared and fingered his little sword; a sword on such as he makes me wonder how black Tom would look in the beadle's wig. But here am I running on about lords and ladies when I hate the sound of their names and am wishing I were back in Virginia where the sunshine isn't strained through fog and the logs burning in the big fireplaces, are fragrant and cheerful.