March 5. 95 Sloane Street. My dearest Father. I went yesterday to see Auntie Bella, found her and Bertha and had a long talk with them. She was much cheered by the encouraging news from Bournemouth and looked much better than I had expected. She is rather worried as to what is to be done with Bella. It appears she can't possibly be moved for a fortnight - the Stobarts stay on another 3 weeks and she has a nurse so I don't suppose there is much bother about that. Auntie Bella talks of going down herself and sending Nellie home. I daresay it would do her good. She is still stiff from her cramp or whatever it is, but it does not prevent her writing.
I went to see Mrs Green yesterday after lunch and had a long talk with her. She was going to a committee of Bobbists of which I long to hear accounts, but she isn't going to join them, or rather she will not take any part in spreading their religion though she thinks, and so do I, that lectures and that kind of thing can do nothing but good; if that is what Mrs Ward proposes to have. I saw the Venables, Mother and daughter, the mother very shy, the girl an e-normous gawky plain creature. She didn't talk much, I told her about Oxford, she will try for a scholarship at one of the halls. When I came in I found a note from Nellie Benson asking me to dinner, so I went. The Dean of Windsor and his wife were there, no one else but the Benson family and some tame chaplains which is a race I can't endure. The Archbishop by whom I sat was pleasant and conversible but I don't care for him much. After dinner Nellie and I and her brother, a dear little boy of about 16, who was at Eton I don't know what he is doing in London at this time of year, and another stray boy played photograph whist which was very funny. The photographs were mostly of themselves in different unrecognisible stages - the ugliest takes the trick, it's rather a good game. It snowed as I came home and was very cold, but today it is warmer. I lunch at Audley Sq. and go with them afterwards to Boehm's studio. Mother has gone to Wokingham, she told me to say that she would not have time to write to you today. I don't believe it is ....... Ever your very affectionate daughter Gertrude.