Even in winter what a joy it was, after a long solitary walk, or ride, or drive, or railway journey, to suddenly find myself at dusk in the midst of all that warmth and light and gayety; what a contrast to the House of Commons; what a relief after Barge Yard or Downing Street; what tea that was, what crumpets and buttered toast, what a cigarette; what romps and jokes, and really jolly good fun; and all that delightful untaught music that afterwards became so cultivated! Music was a special inherited gift of the entire family, and no trouble or expense was ever spared to make the best and the most of it. Roberta became the most finished and charming amateur pianist I ever heard, and as for Mary _la rossignolle_--Mrs. Trevor--she's almost as famous as if she had made singing her profession, as she once so wished to do. She married happily instead, a better profession still; and though her songs are as highly paid for as any--except, perhaps, Madame Patti's--every penny goes to the poor. She can make a nigger melody sound worthy of Schubert and a song of Schumann go down with the common herd as if it were a nigger melody, and obtain a genuine encore for it from quite simple people. Why, only the other night she and her husband dined with me at the Bristol, and we went to Baron Schwartzkind's in Piccadilly to meet Royal Highnesses. Up comes the Baron with: "Ach, Mrs. Drefor! vill you not zing zomzing? ze Brincess vould be so jarmt." "I'll sing as much as you like, Baron, if you promise me you'll send a checque for £50 to the Foundling Hospital to-morrow morning," says Mary. "_I_'ll send _another_ fifty, Baron," says Bob Maurice. And the Baron had to comply, and Mary sang again and again, and the Princess was more than charmed. She declared herself enchanted, and yet it was Brahms and Schumann that Mary sang; no pretty little English ballad, no French, no Italian. "Aus meinen Thränen spriessen Viel' blühende Blumen hervor; Und meine Seufze werden Ein Nachtigallen Chor...." So sang Mary, and I declare some of the royal eyes were moist. They all sang and played, these Josselins; and tumbled and acted, and were droll and original and fetching, as their father had been and was still; and, like him, amiable and full of exuberant life; and, like their mother, kind and appreciative and sympathetic and ever thoughtful of others, without a grain of selfishness or conceit. [Illustration: "'ZE BRINCESS VOULD BE SO JARMT'"] They were also great athletes, boys and girls alike; good swimmers and riders, and first-rate oars. And though not as good at books and lessons as they might have been, they did not absolutely disgrace themselves, being so quick and intelligent. Amid all this geniality and liveliness at home and this beauty of surrounding nature abroad, little Marty seemed to outgrow in a measure her constitutional delicacy.