believe I have forgotten all I ever knew of German, though it isn't so
very long ago since I wrestled in tears and confused darkness of mind
with that uncouth tongue. Don't forget your native tongue, and
don't dare write me a letter in German, or, like the Editor of _The
Spectator_, I shall say, "This correspondence must now cease!"

Since last I wrote life has been one long changing of garments and
moving from one show to another. Tuesday was Viceroy's Cup Day at the
races, a very pretty sight. One side of the ground was crowded by
pretty women in lovely gowns, and on the other side the natives sat in
their hundreds and chattered, not the drab-coloured crowd we produce,
but gay and striking as a bed of tulips.

There are three stands--one for the members of the Turf Club, one for
the ordinary public, and one for the natives who can afford a seat.
The members of the Turf Club may be said to be the sheep; the others
the goats. It is more comfortable in every way to be a sheep. You get
a better seat and a comfortable tea in an enclosure, with the sight
of the goats scrambling wildly for a little refreshment to keep you
thankful, for in the heat and dust and glare even a sheep is apt to
lose sight of its mercies. I thought G. was the prettiest girl there.
She is always such a refreshing sight, pink and white and golden like
a morning in May, and tall--"like a king's own daughter."

I was with the Ormondes and, of course, Boggley. Mrs. Ormonde is so
charming, she is a great favourite with men, and is always surrounded
when she goes anywhere by about half a dozen eager for her smiles. She
has the quaintest way of handing her surplus cavaliers on to me, but I
really much prefer Victor and Boggley as companions. They don't need
to be amused like other men, and are always good-natured and funny.