March 28 Saturday – Isabel Lyon’s journal:  Bermuda: Sometimes it seems to me as if each person were surrounded by a wonderful color, and that is a sacrilege to try to penetrate it. There be some whose color could never be merged into that of another person, but in the main there is only one person in all the world whose color would match with its mate, to make a perfect harmony. For we can’t be many things to many people. I look at all these people and they seem either monotonous or crude in coloring, but suddenly a comet goes by in flashing beauty, and we clap our hands in joy at the splendid vision and recognition of it. I lunched with all the Waylands today at Ardsheal, and Mr. Wayland drove me home talking brilliantly during the splendid glimpses we got of the south shore. Thursday night John Wayland seemed to rebuke me for loving the King as I do and said I mustn’t be a “priestess”. Last night after a dance we thrashed it out on the porch and now he knows that I couldn’t even aspire to that great place [MTP: IVL TS 39-40].

these things—” [MTP].

 The New York Times, p. BR177 included the following anecdote: When Authors Are Tonguetied.

A few weeks ago, at a dinner given to Gertrude Atherton in London, a story was told by a woman who had been present at a New York luncheon when Mrs. Atherton and Mr. Clemens were introduced and placed next each other. Mark Twain thought his neighbor was about to speak, and gallantly waited for her, while Mrs. Atherton, with her customary reserve of manner, waited for him. There ensued a chilly silence, which was broken by Mark Twain saying, as he shook his white locks: “Child, child, don’t be so terribly boisterous.”