On their arrival in Paris, the group telephoned me at the Meurice and came to see me. Turning to the American _ballerina_, a long-time friend of mine, I could not help admiring her appearance. “Where _did_ you get that beautiful suit?” I enquired. “Margot gave it to me, isn’t she sweet?” she replied, quite simply. This is Margot Fonteyn: always ready to share with others; always thinking of others, least of all, of herself. The following incident sums up the Margot Fonteyn I know and love. On the final night of the second American tour, after the last performance, I gave a farewell supper for the entire company at the Chateau Frontenac, in Quebec City. There were speeches, of which more later. When they were over, a _corps de ballet_ member spontaneously rose to propose a toast to Margot Fonteyn, on her great personal triumph in North America. The rounds of applause that followed the toast reminded me of the opening night at the Metropolitan in New York. That applause had come from an audience of paying customers, who had just witnessed a new dancer scoring a triumph in an exciting performance. The applause that went on for minutes and minutes, came from her own colleagues, many of whom had grown up with her from the School. My eyes were moist. After a long time, Fonteyn rose to thank them. In doing so, she reminded them that a _ballerina_ was only as good as her surroundings and that it was impossible for a _ballerina_ to exist without the perfect setting, which they provided. Here was a great artist, the greatest living _ballerina_ we of the western world know, with all her triumphs, all her successes about her, at the apex of her career; very much of the present, here was the true artist, the loyal comrade, the humble, grateful human being. From Chicago, a long journey to Winnipeg for a four-day engagement to be filled at the request of the British Council and David Webster, following a suggestion from H. M. the King. Winnipeg had suffered shocking damage from floods, and His Majesty had promised Winnipeg a visit from the Ballet while it was in America as a gala to lift the spirits of the people. Here the company had its first taste of real cold, for the thermometer dropped to thirty-two degrees below zero. The result was that when it came time to entrain for the journey half-way across the continent to Boston, the next point on the itinerary, the baggage car doors were so frozen that they had to be opened with blowtorches and charges of explosives.