Find out first if Ethel kept tin properly shut.)

_December 8th.—Plymouth.

Arrived last night, terrific storm, ship delayed. Much distressed at thought of Rose, probably suffering severe sea-sickness. Wind howls round hotel, which shakes, rain lashes against window-pane all night. Do not like my room and have unpleasant idea that someone may have committed a murder in it. Mysterious door in corner which I feel conceals a corpse. Remember all the stories I have read to this effect, and cannot, sleep. Finally open mysterious door and find large cupboard, but no corpse. Go back to bed again.

Storm worse than ever in the morning, am still more distressed at thought of Rose, who will probably have to be carried off ship in state of collapse.

Go round to Shipping Office and am told to be on docks at ten o’clock. Having had previous experience of this, take fur coat, camp-stool, and copy of _American Tragedy_ as being longest book I can find, and camp myself on docks. Rain stops. Other people turn up and look enviously at camp-stool. Very old lady in black totters up and down till I feel guilty, and offer to give up camp-stool to her. She replies: “Thank you, thank you, but my Daimler is outside, and I can sit in that when I wish to do so.”

Return to _American Tragedy_ feeling discouraged.

Find _American Tragedy_ a little oppressive, but read on and on for about two hours when policeman informs me that tender is about to start for ship, if I wish to go on board. Remove self, camp-stool, and _American Tragedy_ to tender. Read for forty minutes. (Mem.: Ask Rose if American life is really like that.)

Very, very unpleasant half-hour follows. Camp-stool shows tendency to slide about all over the place, and am obliged to abandon _American Tragedy_ for the time being.

Numbers of men of seafaring aspect walk about and look at me. One of them asks Am I a good sailor? No, I am not. Presently ship appears, apparently suddenly rising up from the middle of the waves, and ropes are dangled in every direction. Just as I catch sight of Rose, tender is carried away from ship’s side by colossal waves.

Consoled by reflection that Rose is evidently not going to require carrying on shore, but presently begin to feel that boot, as they say, may be on the other leg.

More waves, more ropes, and tremendous general activity.

I return to camp-stool, but have no strength left to cope with _American Tragedy_. A man in oilskins tells me I am In the Way there, Miss.

Remove myself, camp-stool, and _American Tragedy_ to another corner. A man in sea-boots says that If I stay there, I may get Badly Knocked About.

Renewed déménagement of self, camp-stool, _American Tragedy_. Am slightly comforted by having been called “Miss”.

Catch glimpse of Rose from strange angles as tender heaves up and down. Gangway eventually materialises, and self, camp-stool, and _American Tragedy_ achieve the ship. Realise too late that camp-stool and _American Tragedy_ might equally well have remained where they were.

Dear Rose most appreciative of effort involved by coming to meet her, but declares herself perfectly good sailor, and slept all through last night’s storm. Try hard not to feel unjustly injured about this.

_December 9th.

Rose staying here two days before going on to London. Says All American houses are Always Warm, which annoys Robert. He says in return that All American houses are Grossly Overheated and Entirely Airless. Impossible not to feel that this would carry more weight if Robert had ever been to America. Rose also very insistent about efficiency of American Telephone Service, and inclined to ask for glasses of cold water at breakfast time—which Robert does not approve of.

Otherwise dear Rose entirely unchanged and offers to put me up in her West-End flat as often as I like to come to London.