It was essentially a pre-war Garden Party, and the weather
was for once perfect, at any rate for the gossamer-clad ladies. Men, as usual on such occasions, came off worse, for most of them stuck to strict orthodoxy in the matter of dress. Lounge suits were per- mitted (and when moths have eaten your only tails not much choice is left), but toppers, mostly grey, and morning-coats were the fashion. At least one frock-coat, with a monocle above it, awaked memories of earlier days. There were a lot of interesting people and a lot of very pleasant people among the 7,000, together no doubt with many who were neither. And there was one absentee, in the person of the woman M.P. who stayed away because she refused to wear a hat ; she was greatly missed. But the best feature of the whole affair was the turf. The Buckingham Palace gardeners, what was left of them, must have worked themselves to skeletons through the war, for grass never looked greener and smoother and fresher. Some would say that the green set off the dresses. For me the dresses set off the green. * * * *
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