The Coat of Arms
Dearest Mamma,—We arrived here this afternoon in time for tea. It is a splendid place, and everything has been done up for them by that man who chooses things for people when they don't know how themselves. He is here now, and he is quite a gentleman, and has his food with us; I can't remember his name, but I daresay you know about him.
Everything is Louis XV. and Louis XVI., but it doesn't go so well in the saloon as it might, because the panelling is old oak, with the Foljambe coats of arms still all round the frieze, and over the mantelpiece, which is Elizabethan. And I heard this—(Mr. Jones I shall have to call him)—say that it jarred upon his nervous system like an intense pain, but that Mrs. Murray-Hartley would keep them up, because there was a "Murray" coat of arms in one of the shields of the people they married, and she says it is an ancestor of hers, and that is why they bought the place; but as Octavia told me that their real name was Hart, and that they hyphened the "Murray," which is his Christian name (if Jews can have Christian names) and put on the "ley" by royal licence, I can't see how it could have been an ancestor, can you?
They are quite established in Society, Octavia says; they have been there for two seasons now, and every one knows them. They got Lady Greswold to give their first concert, and enclosed programmes with the invitations, so hardly any of the Duchesses felt they could refuse, Octavia said, when they were certain of hearing the best singers for nothing; and it was a splendid plan, as many concerts have been spoilt by a rumour getting about that Melba was not really going to sing. Everybody smart is here. I am one of the few untitled people.
A Friendly Little Party
Mrs. Murray-Hartley doesn't look a bit Jewish, or fat and uneasy, like Mrs. Pike, but then this is only Mrs. Pike's first year. She—Mrs. M.-H.—is beautifully dressed, and awfully genial; she said it was "just more than delightful" of Octavia to bring me, and that it was so sweet of her to come to this friendly little party. "It is so much nicer to have just one's own friends," she said, "instead of those huge collections of people one hardly knows." There are quite twenty of us here, Mamma, so I don't call it such a very weeny party, do you?
My bedroom is magnificent, but it hasn't all the new books as they have at Chevenix, and although the writing-table things are tortoise-shell and gold, there aren't any pens in the holders, that is why I am writing this in pencil. The towels have such beautifully embroidered double crests on them, and on the Hartley bit, the motto is "La fin vaut l'eschelle." Octavia, who is in the room now looking at everything, said Lady Greswold chose it for them when they wanted a crest to have on their Sèvres plates and things for their concert. Octavia keeps laughing to herself all the time, as she looks at the things, and it puts me out writing, so I will finish this when I come to bed.
A Question of Taste
12.30.—We had a regular banquet, I sat next to Lord Doraine—I did not catch the name of the man who took me in—I forgot to tell you the Doraines and Sir Trevor and Lady Cecilia and lots of others I know are here. Mrs. Murray-Hartley does hostess herself, which Octavia says is very plucky of her, as both Lady Greswold, who gave her concert, and Lady Bobby Pomeroy, who brought all the young men, are staying in the house; and Octavia says it shows she is really clever to have emancipated herself so soon.
We had gold plate with the game, and china up to that, and afterwards Lady Greswold talked to Octavia, and asked her if she thought it would look better perhaps to begin gold with the soup, and have the hors d'oeuvres on specimen Sèvres just to make a point. I hate gold plate myself, one's knife does make such slate-pencilish noises on it.