s
packed in a trunk in the express office! Perhaps it serves me right for
wanting to "put on style," but I remember an old saying about "doing as
the Romans do." At any rate, I'm going to make the best of it and quit
worrying about it, or I'll be so fussed I'll eat with my knife or pour
my coffee into my saucer!

_Later in the evening._

What a whirl my brain is in! Things happen so fast that I scarcely know
where to begin again to write about them. But it began with the dinner.
That was the grandest dinner I ever tasted but I don't remember a single
thing I ate, though I do know there was no bread or jelly. What would
Aunt Maria think of that! The delicate china, fine linen and silver were
the loveliest I have ever seen. There were electric lights with
soft-colored shades and there was a colored waiter who seemed to move
without effort. The forks and spoons for the different courses bothered
me. I had to glance at Virginia to see which one to use. Once during the
dinner I thought of the time Mollie Brubaker told Aunt Maria about a
dinner she had in the home of a city relative. I remember how Aunt Maria
sniffed, "Humph, if abody's right hungry you can eat without such dumb
style put on. I say when you cook and carry things to the table for
people you don't need to feed them yet, they can help themselves. Just
so it's clean and cooked good and enough to go round, that's all I try
for when I get company to eat." I felt like a fish out of water at the
Lee dinner table, but Mrs. Lee and the others were so kind and tactful
that I could not be embarrassed, not enough to show it. However, I
thought to myself as we rose from the table, "Thank Heaven!"

Mrs. Lee asked me whether I like music. We were in the sitting-room and
Mr. Lee stood by the piano, his hand on his violin case.

"Yes, indeed!" I told her, for I was anxious to hear him play. I have
never heard any great violinist but the sound of a violin sets me
thrilling. I could listen to it for hours.

Mr. Lee smiled at my enthusiasm, lifted the instrument to his shoulder
and began to play. If I live to be a hundred I'll never forget that
music! Like the soothing winds of summer, the subtle fragrance of a wild
rose, the elusive phantoms of our dreams, it stirred my soul. I sat as
one dazed when he ended.

"You say nothing. Don't you like my music?" he asked me.

"Like your music? Like is too poor a word!" And I tried to