concerned, I am all right; a gridiron and a saucepan are all I want—and I can use them myself.  But, dear Aunt Janet, I don’t want you to pig it.  I would like you to have everything you can imagine, and all of the very best.  Cost doesn’t count now for us, thanks to Uncle Roger; and so I want you to order all.  I know you, dear—being a woman—won’t object to shopping.  But it will have to be wholesale.  This is an enormous place, and will swallow up all you can buy—like a quicksand.  Do as you like about choosing, but get all the help you can.  Don’t be afraid of getting too much.  You can’t, or of being idle when you are here.  I assure you that when you come there will be so much to do and so many things to think of that you will want to get away from it all.  And, besides, Aunt Janet, I hope you won’t be too long.  Indeed, I don’t wish to be selfish, but your boy is lonely, and wants you.  And when you get here you will be an Empress.  I don’t altogether like doing so, lest I should offend a millionairess like you; but it may facilitate matters, and the way’s of commerce are strict, though devious.  So I send you a cheque for £1,000 for the little things: and a letter to the bank to honour your own cheques for any amount I have got.

I think, by the way, I should, if I were you, take or send out a few servants—not too many at first, only just enough to attend on our two selves.  You can arrange to send for any more you may want later.  Engage them, and arrange for their being paid—when they are in our service we must treat them well—and then they can be at our call as you find that we want them.  I think you should secure, say, fifty or a hundred—’tis an awfu’ big place, Aunt Janet!  And in the same way will you s