We took rooms in Park Street; that is, we had the two stories of the house. The landlady lived downstairs, and gave us our meals when we were at home. As soon as we got settled we left our cards and letters of introduction.
Invitation followed invitation in the most bewildering manner, sometimes several for the same day.
I could not begin to tell you all that we have already done. Writing letters seems to be the one thing which I have no time for. It is a perpetual push and rush from morning till night.
Our first dinner was at Baron and Baroness Rothschilds', where the Prince and Princess of Wales and a great many distinguished people were invited. I sat next to a Mr. Osbourne—everybody called him Dick. He told me that he was the most dined-out and tired-out man in London, and that he had not eaten at home for six months.
I had not seen their Royal Highnesses since their visit to Paris during the Exposition. They said that they remembered me; but I cannot think it possible that they can have such wonderful memories.
I never saw such a splendid collection of orchids as there was on the table, and each lady had a bouquet of orchids and roses by her plate.
I was asked to sing, and was delighted to do it. The Rothschilds' ballroom was a glorious place in which to make a debut.
Michael Costa, the well-known musician, came after dinner and accompanied me in the "Cavatina" from "Rigoletto," and the waltz from the "Pardon de Ploërmel."
Lady Sherbourne, a charming lady whom I fell in love with at first sight, sang also. She has a beautiful, rich contralto voice, and sang with a great deal of expression an English song called, "Out on the rocks when the tide is low."
In your last letter you wrote, "I am afraid that you are on the way to become conceited." I am afraid myself I am, still I cannot resist telling you, this once, that my audience was very enthusiastic and Mr. Costa said —well, I won't tell you what he said; it might sound conceited. The last thing I sang was "Beware!" which was immensely appreciated.