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                              THE LETTERS
                             OF HER MOTHER
                              TO ELIZABETH


                                [Device]


                       JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD
                     LONDON & NEW YORK. _MDCCCCI_




                           _Copyright, 1901_
                              BY JOHN LANE


                             FIFTH EDITION


                     UNIVERSITY PRESS. JOHN WILSON
                      AND SON. CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.




NOTE


Every one who has read "The Visits of Elizabeth," in which a girl of
seventeen describes her adventures to her mother in a series of
entertaining and clever letters, has instinctively asked the question:
"What sort of woman was Elizabeth's Mother?"

Perhaps an answer that will satisfy all will be found in the following
"Letters of her Mother to Elizabeth."




THE LETTERS OF HER MOTHER TO ELIZABETH




LETTER I


                                                 MONK'S FOLLY, 27th July

DEAREST ELIZABETH:

I am glad you reached Nazeby without any mishap. Your letter was quite
refreshing, but, darling, do be more careful of your grammar. Remember,
one never talks grammar now-a-days in Society, it isn't done; it is
considered very Newnham and Girton and patronising, but one should
always know how to write one's language. Because the fashion might
change some day, and it would be so _parvenu_ to have to pick it up.

As I told you before you started on your round of visits, you will have
a capital opportunity of making a good match. You are young, very
pretty, of the bluest blood in the three kingdoms, and have a
fortune--to be sure this latter advantage, while it would be more than
a sufficient _dot_ to catch a twelfth-century French duke, would be
considered by an impecunious British peer quite beneath contempt. Your
trump card, Elizabeth, is your manner, and I count upon that to do more
for you than all the other attributes put together. Nature and my
training have made you a perfect specimen of an _ingenue_, and I beseech
you, darling, do me credit. Please forgive the coarseness of what I have
said, it is only a little plain speaking between us; I shan't refer to
it again; I know I can trust you.

{_These Horrid Smiths_}

From what you write I gather that the Marquis of Valmond is _epris_ with
Mrs. Smith. Horrid woman! the Chevingtons have met her. Mrs. Chevington
was here this morning to enquire after my neuralgia. She said that Mr.
Smith met his wife in Johannesburg five years ago before he "arrived."
He used to wear overalls, and carry a pick on his shoulder, and spent
his days digging in the earth, but he stopped at sunset, as I should
think he well might, and invariably went to the same inn to refresh
himself, where Mrs. Smith's mother cooked his dinner and Mrs. Smith
herself gave him what she called a "corpse-reviver" from behind the bar.
At night, a great many men who dug in the earth with Mr. Smith would
come for "corpse-revivers," and they called Mrs. Smith "Polly," and the
mother "old girl." And one day Mr. Smith found a nugget as big as a
roc's egg when he was digging in the earth, and after that he stopped.
The funny part was that "Polly" always said he would never find
anything, and he had a wager with her that if he did she should marry
him. So that is the story of their courtship and marriage, and they have
millions. Mrs. Chevington vouches for the truth of it all, for Algy
Chevington was out in Johannesburg at the time, and he dug in the same
hole with Mr. Smith and knows all about him and "Polly," only Algy never
found anything, for the flowers in Mrs. Chevington's hat were in the
bonnet she wore all last spring. But let us leave these horrid Smiths; I
am sure they are horrid. I can't understand how Lady Cecilia puts up
with them. Mrs. Chevington says she hears Sir Trevor is one of the
directors in the Yerburg Mine. Algy called him a guinea-pig, and said he
wished he was one.

{_An Eligible Parti_}

Lord Valmond has fifty thousand a year and six places besides the house
in Grosvenor Square. You will hardly meet a more eligible _parti_; I
hear he is very fast; they say he gave Betty Milbanke, the snake-dancer
at the Palace, all the diamonds she wears. If he is anything like his
father was, he must be both good-looking and fascinating. The late
Marquis was the handsomest man save one that I have ever seen, and could
have married any of the Duchess of Rougemont's daughters if he had been
a valet instead of a marquis, and the Duchess was the proudest woman in
England. The girl who gets this Valmond will not only be lucky but
clever; the way to attract him is to snub him; the fools that have
hitherto angled for him have always put cake on their hooks; but, if I
were fishing in the water in which My Lord Valmond disported himself, I
should bait my hook with a common worm. It is something he has never
yet seen.

{_The African Millionaire_}

Tell me more about Mr. Wertz, the African millionaire; is he the man who
is building the Venetian _palazzo_ in Belgrave Square? If so, it was
rumoured last season that he was to be made a baron. They blackballed
him at the Jockey Club in Paris, and even the Empire nobility who live
in _appartements_ in the Champs Elysees refused to know him; that is why
he came to England. He is a gentleman, if he is a Jew; the family belong
to the tribe of Levi. Algy Chevington, who knows everything about
everybody, says his Holbeins are priceless, and that the Pope offered to
make him a Papal Count if he would part with a "Flight into Egypt" known
as the Wertz Raphael. But of course even a knighthood is better than a
Papal Count, and if Mr. Wertz gives his Holbeins to the National Gallery
he is sure to be created something.

You cannot be too careful of the unmarried girls you know; Miss La
Touche is certainly not the sort of person for you to be intimate with.
The Rooses, of course, are quite correct, they will make capital foils
for you; beside Jane Roose is amiable, and has been out so many seasons
that her advice will be useful. Be sure, however, to do the very
opposite to what she tells you.

{_Lady Beatrice Carterville_}

If the weather is fine to-morrow, I am going to drive over in the
afternoon to call on Lady Beatrice Carterville. She has a house-party,
and the people who come to her are sure to be odd and amusing. My
neuralgia has been better these last few days. The things I ordered from
Paquin have come at last; the mauve crepe de chine with the valenciennes
lace flounces is lovely; the hat and parasol are creations, as the
Society papers say. Love to Lady Cecilia and the tips of my fingers to
Sir Trevor.--Your dearest Mamma.




LETTER II


                                                 MONK'S FOLLY, 29th July

DARLING ELIZABETH:

{_Lady Beatrice's Tea_}

{_A Live Authoress_}

I felt so well yesterday that I drove over in the afternoon to Lady
Beatrice's to tea. I felt I must show myself as Paquin made me to
someone. It was so warm that tea was served on the terrace; the view of
the Quantocks steaming in the distance over the tops of the oaks in the
park was charming. There were a great many people present, and when I
arrived, Lady Beatrice exclaimed at the courage I showed in coming when
the sun was so hot and the road so dusty. She presided at the tea-table
in white pique and a sailor hat which rested on the bridge of her nose.
She is as fat as Lady Theodosia Doran and plays tennis; the rouge on her
neck had stained her collar, quite a four-inch collar too, and there
were finger marks of rouge on her bodice. She introduces everybody,
which, while it is not the thing, certainly makes one more comfortable
than the fashion at present in vogue. I always like to know the names
of the people I am talking to. Everybody talked about the weather and
the dust, and it was deadly dull till Lady Beatrice said she wanted to
play tennis. She went off to play