over the fire, and talking about the colour of the sky. I don't believe
he ever saw the sky except through the window--pane. The other day he
took hold of my frock (that green one you thought so nice at Homburg) and
told me that it reminded him of the texture of the Devonshire turf. And
then he talked for half an hour about the Devonshire turf; which I
thought such a very extraordinary subject. Harold says he is mad. It is
very strange to be living in this way with people one doesn't know. I
mean that one doesn't know as one knows them in England.

The other Americans (beside the madman) are two girls, about my own age,
one of whom is rather nice. She has a mother; but the mother is always
sitting in her bedroom, which seems so very odd. I should like mamma to
ask them to Kingscote, but I am afraid mamma wouldn't like the mother,
who is rather vulgar. The other girl is rather vulgar too, and is
travelling about quite alone. I think she is a kind of schoolmistress;
but the other girl (I mean the nicer one, with the mother) tells me she
is more respectable than she seems. She has, however, the most
extraordinary opinions--wishes to do away with the aristocracy, thinks it
wrong that Arthur should have Kingscote when papa dies, etc. I don't see
what it signifies to her that poor Arthur should come into the property,
which will be so delightful--except for papa dying. But Harold says she
is mad. He chaffs her tremendously about her radicalism, and he is so
immensely clever that she can't answer him, though she is rather clever
too.

There is also a Frenchman, a nephew, or cousin, or something, of the
person of the house, who is extremely nasty; and a German professor, or
doctor, who eats with his knife and is a great bore. I am so very sorry
about giving up my visit. I am afraid you will never ask me again.