I am sure Tennyson meant Whitby when he wrote that. One night we could not sleep because the woman next door had had her "man" drowned, and cried and moaned for hours. He was a fisherman, and we had seen his boat go out third in the row the day before. He is supposed to have fallen overboard in the night? Next day, Mother went in and gave her five shillings and she stopped crying. Mr. Aix had a try to paint the view in front of our windows. At least he said there was no such thing in nature as a "view," and left out the Church and the Abbey, because they "conventionalized" things so. He belongs, he said, to the Impressionist School, if any. He got quite excited about his drawing, and at last went and borrowed a station truck to sit on; it raised him a little. One day a chance lady sat down on one of the handles, and over he went. It served him right for leaving out the two best things in Whitby. When George came, Ariadne and I used to take turns to go and lunch with him at his breakfast, where we had French cookery. There were leathery omelets that bounced up like the stick in the boys' game when you touched the end of them with a spoon, and fillets that you wouldn't have condescended to have for a pillow, but still, it was French. We were dressed nicely and took our clean gloves in our hands, and George wasn't ashamed of us, and introduced us to his friends. Lady Fylingdales' Mr. Sidney Robinson said I was like George--that I had his nose. I went to bed that night with a clothes-peg out of the yard on it, to improve its shape. But the old lady was half blind, and all made of manner. I also saw the Lord Aunt Gerty might have led astray, and he hadn't a manner of any sort, and his nose wanted to run away with his chin.