been invaluable, but, being what it is, it had to be entirely my
own; since whoever writes as he speaks must take the whole
responsibility, and to ask "Do you think I may say this?" or
"write that?" is to shift a little of that responsibility on to
someone else.  This I could not bear to do, above all in the case
of my husband, who sees these recollections for the first time
now.  My only literary asset is natural directness, and that
faculty would have been paralysed if I thought anything that I
have written here would implicate him.  I would rather have made a
hundred blunders of style or discretion than seem, even to myself,
let alone the world at large, to have done that. 

Unlike many memoirists, the list of people I have to thank in this
preface is short: Lord Crewe and Mr.  Texeira de Mattos--who alone
saw my MS.  before its completion--for their careful criticisms
which in no way committed them to approving of all that I have
written; Mr.  Desmond MacCarthy, for valuable suggestions; and my
typist, Miss Lea, for her silence and quickness. 

There are not many then of whom I can truly say, "Without their