'I must ask you to present my darling, and to deal with her exactly
as if she were a daughter of your own. I think you know all my views
and hopes about her; and I feel that I can trust to your friendship
in this my day of need. The dream of my life has been to launch her
myself, and direct her every step in the mazes of town life; but
that dream is over. I have kept age and infirmity at a distance,
have even forgotten that the years were going by; and now I find
myself an old woman all at once, and my golden dream has vanished.'

Lady Kirkbank's reply came by return of post, and happily this gushing
epistle had not to be submitted to Mary's eye.

'My dearest Di,

'My heart positively bleeds for you. What is the matter with your
hand, that you talk of being a life-long prisoner to your room? Pray
send for Paget or Erichsen, and have yourself put right at once. No
doubt that local simpleton is making a mess of your case. Perhaps
while he is dabbing with lint and lotions the real remedy is the
knife. I am sure amputation would be less melancholy than the
despondent state of feeling which you are now suffering. If any limb
of mine went wrong, I should say to the surgeon, "Cut it off, and
patch up the stump in your best style; I give you a fortnight, and
at the end of that time I expect to be going to parties again." Life
is not long enough for dawdling surgery.

'As regards Lesbia, I can only say that I adore her, and I am
enchanted at the idea that I am to run her myself. I intend her to
be _the_ beauty of the season--not _one of the loveliest