I hate gold plate
myself, one's knife does make such slate-pencilish noises on it.
[Sidenote: _Lord Valmond's Arrival_]
The man who took me in kept putting my teeth so on edge that I was
obliged to speak to him about it at last. We had sturgeon from the
Volga, or wherever the Roman emperors got theirs, but the plates were
cold. Violins played softly all the time, behind a kind of Niagara
Falls at the end of the room, which is magnificent; it is hung with
aubusson, almost as good as what they had at Croixmare, which has been
there always.
After dinner, while we were in the drawing-room alone, a note came for
Mrs. Murray-Hartley. She was talking to Octavia and me, so she read it
aloud; it was from Lord Valmond, and sent from the inn in the little
town. He said he had intended staying there by himself for the Hunt
Ball, but that on arrival he found no fire in his room, so he was
writing to ask if Mrs. Murray-Hartley would put him up. She was
enchanted, and at once asked Lady Greswold if it would not be better to
turn Lord Oldfield out of his room--which is the best in the bachelors'
suite--as he is only a baron; but Lady Greswold said she did not think
it would matter.
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