July 27. Monday.
THE Romillys leave to-morrow, and I have seen almost if not quite the last of them to-day. They spend one night in London at a hotel,—a troublesome plan, we think, for such a large party; but it allows the servants to arrive a day sooner, and to get things ready. Beckdale House seems to be smaller than Glynde House, and so not all the servants will go. Rouse and Phipps are to be there of course, and two housemaids, and what Nona calls "a local cook." The old cook stays here in charge, with one of the housemaids,—and the gardener and his wife will be here in their cottage too.
I wonder how the "local cook" will answer. Mr. Romilly is so very particular about his eating.
Maggie goes flying round to-day, forgetting everything; and Miss Con is just as quiet as usual, forgets nothing. And poor Mr. Romilly is in a dreadful state of fuss and fidget. He always is before a journey. A whole mountain of luggage went off last week, and another mountain goes to-morrow; but still he is quite sure they won't have everything they want, and he seems perfectly certain that nobody can be ready in time. It is comical to hear him, for, after all, the most likely person to be late is Mr. Romilly himself. I really don't think he can make haste. It doesn't seem to be in him.
I should feel their leaving much more if Nellie were here. But she isn't; and none of the other girls can be the same to me. I'm not sure that I don't mind most of all saying good-bye to Miss Con. Yesterday evening, after Church, she came in for a few minutes, and she was so very affectionate. She said to Mother, "I shall miss you and Gladys extremely." I know we shall miss her.
Just now I am beginning another story, and that is, of course, a great interest.
This morning I had my first music-lesson. Mr. Lee is rather odd; and the lesson was delicious.
He said, "Play the Scale of C in octaves." When I had done it, he said, "Wrong, from first to last."
That made me feel rather small; because I thought I certainly could play—well, just a little nicely. I am always asked to play at friends' houses, and once or twice I have even been clapped, and perhaps made to feel rather conceited. But of course Mr. Lee is a much better judge than the common run of people, and it must be such a good thing to find out one's real level in anything one does. I shall have to work hard now, to get on. And the first thing will be to learn the "wrist-action," as he calls it, which he thinks so much of.
His touch is just splendid. He seems to bring something out of the piano which I never knew before to be in it. All day long I have been hearing the ring of those wonderful octaves and chords,—almost more exciting than the thought of my book. It has been very hard to settle down to anything else, and trying to write was a sham.