One day the idea came to me that it would be nice to invite my fellow-journalists to tea before finally ringing down the curtain on my journalistic life, and as a tea-party composed entirely of themselves would be rather too much of a family affair, I decided to ask some of my own friends as well. The card indicated on the next page was accordingly sent out. There are three hundred members of the Society of Women Journalists, not all of course living in London, so we reckoned that one hundred might turn up during the afternoon. As it happened, the total number of people who crossed my doorstep between 3.45 and 7.15 (for they came before the appointed time and stayed after the allotted hour) was four hundred—one hundred and sixty-four of whom were men! [Illustration: To Meet Society of Women Journalists. MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE AT HOME WEDNESDAY, APRIL 27, 4-7. 4.0. MRS. KENDAL. 4.30. MISS GRAINGER KERR. 5.0. MISS GENEVIÈVE WARD. 5.30. MR. ADOLPH MANN. 6.0. LADY TREE. 6.30. MISS CHRISTIAN MUIR. 30, YORK TERRACE, HARLEY STREET. ] Luckily, some days beforehand I had sorted out the glass and china, been to the plate-chest, seen to the table-linen, ordered the hat-stands and urns, and made everything in readiness, for on Monday night before this memorable Wednesday I was taken ill. Internal chills are like influenza, they sound so little and may mean so much. Tuesday found me worse, and when the doctor came late in the day, my suffering was so intense that he insisted upon an injection of morphia. I was too dull with pain, too stupefied from the drug to so much as even think about putting off that party. It seemed to me an absolutely impossible task. I had not tacked those tiresome letters “R.S.V.P.” on the cards of invitation, and therefore had not the slightest idea how many people would come, so as everything had been arranged, it seemed best to let things take their course, and chance my being up, clothed, and in my right mind. The Fates decided otherwise. By Tuesday night I was worse. The nurse shook her head, still the doctor saw the impossibility of stopping the party, and wisely begged me not to trouble myself about it. I knew my sister, Mrs. W. F. Goodbody, would be quite equal to the task of receiving in my absence. Besides, I sent messages to one or two intimate friends to come early and hand tea and coffee, and smile and talk; in fact, turn themselves into public entertainers for the afternoon. Everyone behaved splendidly. With so much brilliant talent to amuse them, they could hardly be dull. Even to my bed there rose the shouts of laughter and sounds of enthusiastic applause after the recitations and music.