She replied, to my surprise: “I really wasn’t listening, dear. I was obliged to leave to give instructions to the laundress. In consequence of some stuff she puts in the water, two more of Lupin’s coloured shirts have run and he says he won’t wear them.” I said: “Everything is Lupin. It’s all Lupin, Lupin, Lupin. There was not a single button on my shirt yesterday, but _I_ made no complaint.” Carrie simply replied: “You should do as all other men do, and wear studs. In fact, I never saw anyone but you wear buttons on the shirt-fronts.” I said: “I certainly wore none yesterday, for there were none on.” Another thought that strikes me is that Gowing seldom calls in the evening, and Cummings never does. I fear they don’t get on well with Lupin. DECEMBER 18.—Yesterday I was in a retrospective vein—to-day it is _prospective_. I see nothing but clouds, clouds, clouds. Lupin is perfectly intolerable over the Daisy Mutlar business. He won’t say what is the cause of the breach. He is evidently condemning her conduct, and yet, if we venture to agree with him, says he won’t hear a word against her. So what is one to do? Another thing which is disappointing to me is, that Carrie and Lupin take no interest whatever in my diary. I broached the subject at the breakfast-table to-day. I said: “I was in hopes that, if anything ever happened to me, the diary would be an endless source of pleasure to you both; to say nothing of the chance of the remuneration which may accrue from its being published.” Both Carrie and Lupin burst out laughing. Carrie was sorry for this, I could see, for she said: “I did not mean to be rude, dear Charlie; but truly I do not think your diary would sufficiently interest the public to be taken up by a publisher.” I replied: “I am sure it would prove quite as interesting as some of the ridiculous reminiscences that have been published lately. Besides, it’s the diary that makes the man. Where would Evelyn and Pepys have been if it had not been for their diaries?” Carrie said I was quite a philosopher; but Lupin, in a jeering tone, said: “If it had been written on larger paper, Guv., we might get a fair price from a butterman for it.” As I am in the prospective vein, I vow the end of this year will see the end of my diary.