a reporter when
he asked me if I knew all the British aristocracy, by saying that alas!
I did not, but that my maid did.

Nothing could have been prettier than the Vanderbilt ball. I look
forward to seeing the house of my kind hosts under more normal
conditions, but I could see at a glance that it is not only full of rare
and valuable objects, but is really striking. The reception rooms,
concert hall, and ballrooms were crowded with fashion and beauty. I
gazed about to see if I could find anyone I knew. My eye fell upon my
daughter Elizabeth, who in her black velvet Aubrey Beardsley dress was
among the prettiest women in the room.

After trying unsuccessfully to detain my beloved friend Colonel
House--who hates parties--I caught sight of Mr. Balfour looking young
and happy. In spite of the admiring throng by whom he was surrounded I
skirmished through, and, taking him by the arm, engaged him in private
conversation. Being incapable of flattery, I told him with what
extraordinary ability he had represented Great Britain at the Washington
Conference; how glad we all were that he had been selected; and how
enchanted I was to see him. With the dazzling charm that never deserts
him he asked me searching questions as to how my lectures were
progressing, and implored me not to tire myself.

I answered that I was always over-tired, but said with truth that
neither he nor I would ever grow old.

No one can say that Mr. Balfour does not care for power and politics,
but a certain detachment has prevented him from growing old, and by what
means I cannot discover, he never appears to be bored in society; it is
this, I think, that keeps him young.

I know something about youth, as the Tennants are a race apart; not
because we are specially clever, learned, famous, or amusing, but
because we have no age. I have been told by gypsies, palmists,
phrenologists and other swindlers many senseless and incompatible
things, but upon two matters they all agreed. They said I would always
be young enough to make love and inspire it, and that I was unmercenary
and of a kindly disposition.

In these ways I resemble my father. Sleepless, irritable, impatient, and
interested, he could skip and dance at the age of sixty better than most
young men in their teens, and his last beautiful daughter was born when
he was eighty. This is not entirely physical: it comes no doubt from
vitality, but it is also a mixture of moral and intellectual
tempera