I don't know what your experience has been, but I find it hard to remain patient with the whole world of people who delight in calling themselves "artists". (If English has any meaning, an artist is a person who _paints_, not a fiddler or a poet or an actor.) So much fuss has been made of them that their heads have really been turned. Before I had quite decided what music to have, I heard a young man playing at Connie Maitland's. Quite well he played--for an Englishman, and I asked Connie to present him. "I have a few friends dining on the eighteenth," I said, "and I was wondering whether you would be so very kind as to come and give us an opportunity of hearing a little more of your too delightful playing." These people _expect_ to be flattered, as no doubt you know... "The eighteenth?," he repeated. "I'm not dining anywhere that night, so far as I know; I will come with great pleasure." The impudence of the man! "Dinner itself..." I said. "My dining-room is so absurdly small that I am absolutely restricted in numbers. But _afterwards_... I have asked a few friends, real music-lovers; say about half-past ten. The address--" "Oh," he interrupted, "I'll ask you to get in touch with my agent. He'll tell you my terms and make all arrangements." "But there are no arrangements to make," I protested. "Lady Maitland told me that you were a new-comer to London, and I thought you might like to meet a few people..." And then I told him that the princess had graciously promised to come. The young man thought it over--for all the world as though he were at a bazaar and I were pressing him to buy something that he didn't want! I was _beside_ myself... "I should like to meet her," he was good enough to say. "She may be useful. All right, I'll do it this once." And, do you know, it was on the tip of my tongue to say that never should he set foot inside my _house_! First of all _inviting_ himself to dinner, then trying to make me _pay_ him for coming... An artist I can understand; and a tradesman I can understand. But this hybrid... And on the night he insisted on my presenting him to the princess. Insisted! There is no other word... She, of course, was too sweet ... made no objection and even complimented him. I kept thinking of the old days. When my niece Phyllida came out just before the war, Brackenbury gave a ball for her and asked me to do what I could (Ruth is worse than useless on such occasions, because she tries to cover up her ignorance by saying it doesn't matter--and being obstinate about it). I ordered the band--from those really nice people in Clifford Street--; and the princess was present on that occasion too. I _wondered_ what we should have thought if the leader had strolled up, baton in hand, and said: "Oh, won't you present me to Her Royal Highness?" ...