“P.S.--I am so sorry I shall not be in town to witness your first raptures, but dear Artie looks so pale and thin and tall after the hooping-cough, that I am sending him off at once to the sea, and as I cannot bear the child out of my sight, I am going into banishment likewise.” MRS. MONTRESOR TO MRS. DE WYNT. “32, ---- STREET, MAY FAIR, “_May 14th_. “DEAREST BESSY, “Why did not dear little Artie defer his hooping-cough convalescence, &c., till August? It is very odd, to me, the perverse way in which children always fix upon the most inconvenient times and seasons for their diseases. Here we are installed in our Paradise, and have searched high and low, in every hole and corner, for the serpent, without succeeding in catching a glimpse of his spotted tail. Most things in this world are disappointing, but 32, ---- Street, May Fair, is not. The mystery of the rent is still a mystery. I have been for my first ride in the row this morning: my horse was a little fidgety; I am half afraid that my nerve is not what it was. I saw heaps of people I knew. Do you recollect Florence Watson? What a wealth of red hair she had last year! Well, that same wealth is black as the raven’s wing this year! I wonder how people can make such walking impositions of themselves, don’t you? Adela comes to us next week; I am so glad. It is dull driving by oneself of an afternoon; and I always think that one young woman alone in a brougham, or with only a dog beside her, does not look _good_. We sent round our cards a fortnight before we came up, and have been already deluged with callers. Considering that we have been two years exiled from civilized life, and that London memories are not generally of the longest, we shall do pretty well, I think. Ralph Gordon came to see me on Sunday; he is in the ----th Hussars now. He has grown up such a _dear_ fellow, and so good-looking! Just my style, large and fair and whiskerless! Most men nowadays make themselves as like monkeys, or Scotch terriers, as they possibly can. I intend to be quite a _mother_ to him. Dresses are gored to as _indecent_ an extent as ever; short skirts are rampant. I am so sorry; I hate them. They make tall women look _lank_, and short ones insignificant. A knock! Peace is a word that might as well be expunged from ones London dictionary. “Yours affectionately, “CECILIA MONTRESOR.” MRS. DE WYNT TO MRS. MONTRESOR. “THE LORD WARDEN, DOVER, “_May 18th_. “DEAREST CECILIA,