LONDON, Tuesday, April 18th, 1882.
—Stayed till Tuesday and found my Fred at home, safe back from Dublin and horribly discreet as to state of things in Ireland. I don't know what o'clock I should have seen him but for a lucky count-out which brought him home to dinner. (N.B. The Tuesday counts-out are getting a bad scandal.)
Wednesday, 19th.—Tory papers started the affected notion of Tories wearing primroses in his honour, announcing it his "favourite flower." Remarkably inappropriate.
[Written some time after her husband's death.]
I must try and put down what I can of the end of my blessed 18 years' happiness—the end of all the bright hopes for the future, and the deep interest and anxiety of the present. All over now, and "my heart within me is desolate."
(The remainder of the published diary does not work in weblog format and is continued in narrative form at the Index to the Lady Lucy Cavendish Diary webpage.)
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