This morning, I cried in church. No matter how hard I try to placate Papa, he is always seething about something. I began praying early and fervently at Holy Trinity to please him with my godliness but certain friends told him they were worried for my mind. Now it seems, Papa’s greatest fear is not so much for my mind - or the future of Wolfie and Mama in Paris, but for my situation when he is dead. This is hardly news!
He is like Miss Pimperl with the Spanish snuffbox – she will NOT STOP licking the powder from the lid. That is Papa on the last ruling of the Archbishop. He will NOT STOP huffing and puffing and snuffing and telling me that when a father dies in the employment of the Prince, the son looks after the mother and the daughter goes into service.
I do not think I would be a very good maid.