5 July

Uncle Jack has gone to London again as of yesterday. That is why I was obliged to suffer through German all day yesterday. Horrid German! Miss Prism is *quite* excited about our voyage to Germany this autumn. We will travel via steamer to Hamburg, and bu private train car from there. Miss Prism is most concerned that I should make a favorable impression on Germany. I am interested in making a favorable impression upon Ernest. I really must admit I am entirely fascinated by the idea of travelling on a steamer. Travelling by steamer is quite the thing.

4 July

Horrid German today. I asked Miss Prism why I can't learn a *nice* language, like maybe French for instance. Miss Prism says German is a respectable language. Miss Prism says French is indecent and indeed that the French natives are not only indecent but also uncharitable and it is because of them that we no longer own the colonies. I don't much mind people who are indecent, but I don't at *all* approve of people who are uncharitable. It is wrong, and besides, it gives us no excuse for a ball!

29 June

Singing lessons have been suspecned for the time being. Miss Prism feels it is better that way, as it will allow me to debut at the beginning of next year's season with a full repertoire. Naturally, I am disappointed, but Ernest writes to say that he is very excited bu the news, as it will allow him to find a way to be present for my debut. Oh, my darling boy! How proud he will be of me. I am sure he will race across the room with flowers for me and cry "Brava!" (that's Italian) with all his darling heart.

28 June

Singing lessons all day. Miss Prism still cross. Weather charming!

26 June

I am preparing to sing at the Arbuthnots' in a few days' time. Miss Prism feels that I should practice more at reading the notes and learning the words. On this point I really must disagree. Absolutely *anyone* may learn *notes*. *I* sing with great expression and style. As a result, Miss Prism and I have entered into quite a row—she refused to allow me a third piece of cake at tea. Really, I can't see what good *starving* me does! Miss Prism is *quite unreasonable*.

Dear Ernest writes to say that he simply cannot wait to hear me sing.

19 June

Whole day with my dear guardian. We took Maxine along to hold my parasol, and we took the dogcart that has no top. Entirely charming day. We drove out of Hertfordshire entirely and called upon Uncle Jack's acquaintance, Mr. Fawlty of Tunbridge Wells. Dear Mr. Fawlty is a most charming and *eccentric* fellow. He has a *moose*head on his wall. It is imported all the way from Canada, in America, and he disapproves of Germans very much. I approve of Mr. Fawlty very much.

14 June

My dear dear darling guardian has consented to found a farmers' fund in *my name*! I am not interested in philanthropic work myself, but I do like having my name on things, especially things concerned with eating.

Lessons not *so* very bad today. Miss Prism *quite* relaxed today, and let the conversation slip to my long-lost Ernest, who has not written to me in so long that I despair he has been killed or kidnapped. When I asked Miss Prism about kidnappings, though, she became *quite agitated* and said she needed to pray. Poor Miss Prism must be worried about dear Ernest too.

7 June

Lessons all day, including singing. I don't understand a word of what I am saying, but Miss Prism assures me it is of no great importance. Miss Prism says most people don't ever know what they are saying, even in their own language. Indeed, she said it is never a good idea to know *quite* what one is saying in a foreign tongue.

5 June

My dear guardian has decreed that I will begin singing lessons with Miss Prism, who is most excited indeed about the prospect of introducing me to "the fine art of musical composition." As a result, I am obliged to practice upon the piano forte so that I might accompany myself at evening parties.

No response from Ernest.

27 May

Miss Prism absolutely refused to speak about Ernest today. In fact, she called him "unspeakable." She is unhappy today, and Dr. Chasuble is away, so I asked her if she is in love with Dr. Chasuble. She said *certainly not*, he is a celebate! and then spoke *most ferociously* on the impudence of the natives (in India) and then ended lessons early. I wonder what has got her so *nervous*?

25 May

Uncle Jack at lessons again, and looking very bored indeed. Whyever does he come to lessons if he is merely going to be bored? I myself am often moved to yawn during lessons, but I would quite certainly *leave* if I were he.

24 May

Uncle Jack moping about all day with what Miss Prism called a "hang-dog" look. I suppose it is because of my dismal appearance at the dinner party, but I could not stand it there any longer. If we had not gone, I would have run amok. Lessons horrendous and usual. Why can't I at least learn history like I used? History at least was *readable*—there were so terribly many *scandals* in it.

20 May

Uncle Jack sat in at lessons today and was most distracted. I wonder if he was thinking about Ernest. I certainly was. I wonder where he is. I suppose he must be in the Orient doing some type of silk or spice trading. Suppose he is a pirate! Pirates wear big boots just like bombers. Bigger, actually. And they fight duels!

10 May

Uncle Jack arrived back this morning with my new German text, and Miss Prism says we will be obliged to spend a *large* amount of time on German now since we have missed so many lessons. I hate German. It isn't at all a becoming language. In fact, I am quite sure that I look more than usually plan after my German lessons.

Sweet, appealing letter from Ernest, asking whether I will still think of him even after I have met all the charming boys at the ball. I have informed him that I will not even *look* at any boys at the ball, unless I am obliged to dance with them of course.

7 May

Miss Prism somewhat lax at lessons today and somewhat distracted. On the subject of Ernest, she says merely that it is not proper for a young lady to spend so very much of her time thinking about any man at all, much less a rogue and a bounder. I think a rogue must be a most excellent thing to be, but Miss Prism says a roue always comes to ruin.

4 May

A sweet, pining letter from Ernest, begging me to forgive him for his jealousies and grieving that he was unable to see me in my outfit. I am having my coronet dried and will save it to show him when we meet.

Lessons *beastly* today—went on for *hours*. Miss Prism quite intent on me entirely understanding the Pound/Mark exchange rate, and I money holds no interest for me. Indeed, I think it quite vulgar to have any understanding of money at all.

2 May

Everyone entirely useless today. The entire village and everyone on the estates stayed up reveling far too late in the evening. It seems to me that *this* is the day that should be the holiday. Our breakfast was lumpy, our midday was nothing but cold cuts, our tea was dull, and our supper involved rutabagas. I detest rutabagas! Uncle Jack spent the entire day in his library, Miss Prism forgot about lessons entirely (she had a headache) and Dr. Chasuble was quite cranky, which is not at all like him. I was left to mourn my great disappointment on my own.

26 April

My dear guardian has arranged a tea with a Miss Lucy Brown, who is visiting her aunt, Lady Percival, a rather persnickety old lady down the road. I am wearing my new yellow tea dress and serving cucumber and cress sandwiches (and maybe rose petal sandwiches) in the garden. Oh I *do* hope I will like her—she may be able to help me locate Ernest.

Uncle Jack has allowed that I should continue my Political Economy lessons. Horrid Political Economy.

16 April

Miss Prism and I took lessons and a picnic out to the top of one of the hills quite close. Weather splendid until we got to the very top of the hill. Then the rains came. Books all wet. I won't be able to study German for weeks until the new book arrives.

Uncle Jack has said I am to be May Queen this year. Whatever shall I wear?

15 April

Uncle Jack is *not* sending me to London. He means for us to sojourn in Germany! He says it will be a wonderful learning opportunity for me to practice my (horrid) German in its homeland! I hate German! I hate Uncle Jack!

Later—letter from Ernest. My own sweet, loving boy! He says that he will meet me without fail in Germany! He hates German too. We will speak only English there. Mudie left this afternoon on the 4:05. She has her bridge game this evening in town. Uncle Jack has gone with her. Not to bridge.