five o'clock P.M.
There is my scrape , dearest of women , and mamma whom I would select if I were able to choose among all eligible mothers since Eve , up to date . The situation has n't changed in the least , to the time of writing , except that it has lasted longer , and got frayed round the edges . I was paid for , including food and lodging , until after breakfast . It is now half-past five o'clock P.M. , pouring with rain , howling with wind , and not only has nobody come back to collect me , but nobody has telephoned or telegraphed . I have eaten , or pretended to eat , a luncheon , for which I have no money to pay . I refused tea , but was so kindly urged that I had to reconsider ; and the buttered toast of servitude is at this moment sticking in my throat , lodged on the sharp edge of an unuttered sob . Your poor , forlorn little daughter !