Page:The Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman.djvu/16

 A little home-sick for Mount Street and my friends? Indeed, yes; though I have not been neglected. Are not those tulips too magnificent? Were, rather. . . The dear princess brought them a week ago, and I was so touched by her sweetness that I have not the heart to throw them away. If she, to whom I can be nothing but a dull old woman. . . I mean, it brings into relief the unkindness of others; and I do indeed find it hard to forgive the callousness of Spenworth and my brother Brackenbury. No, that—like the operation—I would rather not talk about. Their attitude was so—wicked. ..

You, of course, have been under an anæsthetic. I? Not since I was a child; and the only sensation I recall was a hammer, hammer, hammer just as I went off, which I believe is nothing but the beating of one’s heart. . . But before the operation. . . You must not think that I am posing as a heroine; but accidents do happen, and for two days and two nights, entirely by myself. . . It was inevitable that one should take stock. . . My thoughts went back to old days at Brackenbury, spacious old days with my dear father when he was ambassador at Rome and Vienna (they were happy times, though the expense crippled him); old days when my brother was a funny,