erted.

On the 10th my daughter Elizabeth took me to a fashionable charity fete
in a large New York ballroom, where I heard my son-in-law speak for the
first time. I envied him his self-possession; for, though I am told that
my demeanor does not betray me, I am so nervous before the so-called
"lectures" that I eat nothing, and so exhausted after, that the mildest
meal gives me indigestion.

Having suffered from audiences that, while more than appreciative,
seldom clap, Mrs. Frank Polk and I were determined that Antoine Bibesco
should not experience the same embarrassment. Our friendly intentions
were frustrated, however, as everything he said was received with
enthusiasm. His handsome face and fine manners, and the popularity of
his wife (though it is not usual to praise one's daughter) have made
them much loved in this hospitable country.

On leaving the entertainment I was way-laid by a female reporter:

"Is it not true that but for his Highness Prince Bibesco you would never
have published your diaries, Mrs. Asquith?" she asked. To which I
replied:

"I have not published my diaries. I have written the first volume of my
autobiography, encouraged by some of my friends--but no one has
criticised my literary efforts with more perspicacity and insight than
my son-in-law."

"Can you not give me a story for my paper?" she said.

The gallantry of Mr. Nelson Cromwell, and presence of mind of Mrs. Frank
Polk rescued me from further conversation.

Mr. Clarence Mackay invited me to a concert in his beautiful house after
dinner, where I met some of the American men that I am most devoted
to--Mr. Polk, our ex-Ambassador Mr. Davis, and Colonel House. I sat
next to the latter with whom I had a good talk and, what with hearing
Kreisler--the greatest living violinist--and being in a position to
observe the glowing enthusiasm of Elizabeth and the melancholy
expression of her husband, I was consoled for the midnight journey which
we took to Washington when the party was over.

My love for my grand-baby, the titter of talk, the tissue paper of
unpacking outside my door, and the miawling of "Minnie" the cat,
prevented me from resting upon my arrival in the morning, and when I
went to the Senate after lunch I could hardly keep awake. The Four Power
Treaty was being discussed, but the debate was languid, and more seats
were unoccupied than Senators speaking.

Except for a tribune, the Senate reminds me of the _Chambre_ in Paris