When I scolded her, ever so gently, for going out without leave, she flew into a rage, and wanted to know if I wished a month's notice. Then she began to weep and pity herself, and her cheeks were the colour of lobsters, and she behaved very strangely. I told her to get my bath ready, and she fell asleep while it was filling, and the water overflowed and did no end of damage. I got very angry, and accused her of being drunk, which she indignantly denied, saying she had only been to see her mother who lives in Soho. I sent her to bed after that, and Blanche laced me up and did my hair, but I felt like a fright for the rest of the night. {_Goes to the Theatre_} Dinner was rather tame, as there were so few people in the room, but of course one can't expect the season to last all the year round. The Vicomte had, after great difficulty, managed to get seats for "Mr. and Mrs. Daventry." Between the acts we heard people discussing who wrote it, and in fact, it is as much of an enigma as the authorship of "An Englishwoman's Love Letters." Blanche thinks the same person wrote both. The Vicomte thought the play very "polite," and was astonished that it had created such a sensation. He said we ought to see "La Dame aux Maximes" and "Demie-Vierge," both now running in Paris. We all agreed that the play was thoroughly representative of Society, but the unnatural parts were Daventry's suicide and the elopement of his wife with Ashurst. People don't do these things in our set. The company was excellent, and Blanche and I both wished we were Mrs. Pat Campbell to have love made to us so delightfully every night by young Du Maurier. Even the Vicomte said they didn't do it better in France, and he is sure Du Maurier did it so well, because he was half French. {_Supper at the Savoy_} We had supper at the Savoy. The usual sight. At a table near us was an actress _très décolletée_; six of our _jeunesse frivole_ were squabbling for her smiles. We left before the lights were turned out, because the people behave so badly in the corridor. The Vicomte leaves for Paris to-morrow; he is so much nicer in England than abroad.--Your dearest Mamma. LETTER XXX THE CARLTON HOTEL 17th November DARLING ELIZABETH: {_Elizabeth's Engagement_}