5 March

I asked Uncle Jack about all the gay balls in London, and he, I must say, paints quite a different picture than dear Ernest does. He says they are not at all gay balls, but are dreary affairs that one goes to only because one *must*—that they really are the most terrible *bore*, as they are without fail full of *clever people*, to whom my dear guardian cannot bear to listen. He loathes listening. Still, I think I would like to see these clever people for myself.