I want my gifts, the writer assures me, to be individual and yet appropriate—beautiful, and yet enduring. Then why not Enamel dressing-table set, at £94 16s. 4d. or Set of crystal-ware, exact replica of early English cut-glass, at moderate price of £34 17s. 9d.?

Why not, indeed?

Am touched to discover further on, however, explicit reference to Giver with Restricted Means—though even here, am compelled to differ from author’s definition of restricted means. Let originality of thought, she says, add character to trifling offering. Would not many of my friends welcome suggestion of a course of treatment—(six for 5 guineas)—at Madame Dolly Varden’s Beauty Parlour in Piccadilly to be placed to my account?

Cannot visualise myself making this offer to our Vicar’s wife, still less her reception of it, and decide to confine myself to oneand-sixpenny calendar with picture of sunset on Scaw Fell, as usual.

(Indulge, on the other hand, in a few moments’ idle phantasy, in which I suggest to Lady B. that she should accept from me as a graceful and appropriate Christmas gift, a course of Reducing Exercises accompanied by Soothing and Wrinkle-eradicating Face Massage.)

This imaginative exercise brought to a conclusion by arrival.

Obliged to take taxi from station, mainly owing to chrysanthemums (which would not combine well with two suit-cases and fur coat on moving stairway, which I distrust and dislike anyhow, and am only too apt to make conspicuous failure of Stepping Off with Right Foot foremost)—but also partly owing to fashionable locality of Rose’s flat, miles removed from any Underground.

Kindest welcome from dear Rose, who is most appreciative of chrysanthemums. Refrain from mentioning unfortunate incident with elderly gentleman in train.

_December 19th.

Find Christmas shopping very exhausting. Am paralysed in the Army and Navy Stores on discovering that List of Xmas Presents is lost, but eventually run it to earth in Children’s Books Department. While there choose book for dear Robin, and wish for the hundredth time that Vicky had been less definite about wanting Toy Greenhouse and _nothing else_. This apparently unprocurable. (_Mem_.: Take early opportunity of looking up story of the Roc’s Egg to tell Vicky.)

Rose says “Try Selfridge’s.” I protest, but eventually go there, find admirable—though expensive—Toy Greenhouse, and unpatriotically purchase it at once. Decide not to tell Robert this.

Choose appropriate offerings for Rose, Mademoiselle, William, and Angela—(who will be staying with us, so gifts must be above calendar-mark)—and lesser trifles for everyone else. Unable to decide between almost invisibly small diary, and really handsome card, for Cissie Crabbe, but eventually settle on diary, as it will fit into ordinary-sized envelope.

_December 20th.

Rose takes me to see St. John Ervine’s play, and am much amused. Overhear one lady in stalls ask another: Why don’t _you_ write a play, dear? Well, says the friend, it’s so difficult, what with one thing and another, to find _time_. Am staggered. (Query: Could I write a play myself? Could we _all_ write plays, if only we had the time? Reflect that St. J. E. lives in the same county as myself, but feel that this does not constitute sound excuse for writing to ask him how he finds the time to write plays.)

_December 22nd.

Return home. One bulb in partial flower, but not satisfactory.

December 23rd.

Meet Robin at the Junction. He has lost his ticket, parcel of sandwiches, and handkerchief, but produces large wooden packing-case, into which little shelf has been wedged. Understand that this represents result of Carpentry Class—expensive “extra” at school—and is a Christmas present. Will no doubt appear on bill in due course.

Robin says essential to get gramophone record called “Is Izzy Azzy Wozz?” (_N.B._ Am often struck by disquieting thought that the dear children are entirely devoid of any artistic feeling whatever, in art, literature, or music. This conviction intensified after hearing “Is Izzy Azzy Wozz?” rendered fourteen times running on the gramophone, after I have succeeded in obtaining record.)

Much touched at enthusiastic greeting between Robin and Vicky. Mademoiselle says, “Ah, c’est gentil!” and produces a handkerchief, which I think exaggerated, especially as in half-an-hour’s time she comes to me with complaint that R. and V. have gone up into the rafters and are shaking down plaster from nursery ceiling.