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	         Lotty�s Home
though � on her thin thick, black tangled
curls, kid shoes, worn and torn at the toes,
and sandaled over her white stockings, her face ap-
parently more freckled than ever � and that
was Lotty.       She introduced me to two
friends, one who lives with her � I was
going to say permanently � a Miss Julia
colloqinally �Jule� Martin, and another, a
New York girl, a visitor, whom they called
Lotty.      She showed me her garden, her
plantings, fowls, the house, books, pictures
&c.      There was a London lithographic port-
rait of �her father-in-law,� a Dr Granville,
a physician.   M. R. S., author of a medical
book, and that sort of thing.       Two portraits,
one a photograph, of his son Arthur Gran-
ville, alias Alleyne, Lotty�s bigamitic husband.
A good-looking, gentlemanly, mildish face,
irresolution and weakness about the eyebrows
and mouth, a bald forehead � rather dis-
tingue and unsatisfactory.        We all four
lunched together, on pie, cake and tea, and
Lotty entertained me with talk and books � 
picture ones � throughout the afternoon.   I looked
through her album.         All sorts of rhymes to
her, written by both men and women.      Rhy-
mes by her �husband� � elaborate, weakly-strong