I had tea with Lady Cunard....Then in came Lord Donegall, a glib Irish youth, dark sallow slick, on the Press.  Don't they treat you like a dog? I said. "No, not at all" he replied, astonished that a marquis could be treated like a dog by anyone.  And then we went up & up to see pictures on stairs in ballrooms & finally to Lady C's bedroom, hung entirely with flower pieces. The bed has its triangular canopy of rose red silk; the windows, looking on the square, are hung with green brocade.  Her poudreuse - like mine only painted & gilt stood open with golden brushes looking glasses, & there on her gold slippers were neatly laid gold stockings.  All this paraphernalia for one stringy old hop o' my thumb. She set the two great musical boxes playing & I said did she lie in bed listening to them? But no. She has nothing fantastic in that way about her.