_Calcutta, Jan. 8_.

Such a scene of confusion! Everything I possess is lying on the floor.
All the things I have accumulated on my way out and since I came to
Calcutta lie in one heap waiting to be packed; shoes, dresses, hats,
books, photographs are scattered madly about, and in the middle,
almost reduced to idiocy, and making no effort to reduce chaos to
order, sits Bella. I can't help her, for I must get my home letters
written and posted before we leave Calcutta, for before I reach my
first halting-place the mail will be gone.

Boggley has been in the Mofussil for three days, and I have been
staying with the Townleys. I came back last night. It was nice being
with G. again, and her sister is extraordinarily kind. We had rather
an interesting day on Friday. I have always been asking where are the
Missionaries, but I suppose I must have asked the wrong people, for
they didn't seem to know. However, the other day I met a lady,--Mrs.
Gardner,--the wife of a missionary, who asked us to go to lunch with
her, and promised she would show us something of the work among the
women. So on Friday we set off in a _tikka-gharry_.

We left the Calcutta we knew--the European shops, the big, cool
houses, the Maidan--and drove through native streets, airless,
treeless, drab-coloured places, until we despaired of ever reaching
anywhere. When at last our man did stop, we found Mrs. Gardner's cool,
English-looking drawing-room a welcome refuge from the glare and the
dust; and she was kindness itself. She made a delightful cicerone, for
she has a keen sense of humour and a wide knowledge of native life.