gets up.

Go into the drawing-room, and all exclaim how nice it is to see the fire. Room very cold. (Query: Is this good for the bulbs?) Lady in blue tapestry takes down her hair, which she says she is growing, and puts it up again. We all begin to talk about hair. Depressed to find that everybody in the world, except apparently myself, has grown, or is growing, long hair again. Lady B. says that Nowadays, there Isn’t a Shingled Head to be seen _anywhere_, either in London, Paris, or New York. Nonsense.

Discover, in the course of the evening, that the blue tapestry has nothing whatever to do with literature, but is a Government Sanitary Inspector, and that _Symphony in Three Sexes_ was written by pale young man with glasses. Lady B. says, Did I get him on to the subject of _perversion_, as he is always so amusing about it? I reply evasively.

Men come in, and all herded into billiard room (just as drawing-room seems to be getting slightly warmer) where Lady B. inaugurates unpleasant game of skill with billiard balls, involving possession of a Straight Eye, which most of us do not possess. Robert does well at this. Am thrilled, and feel it to be more satisfactory way of acquiring distinction than even authorship of _Symphony in Three Sexes_.

Congratulate Robert on the way home, but he makes no reply.

_November 26th.

Robert says at breakfast that he thinks we are no longer young enough for late nights.

Frippy and Coleman regret that they can no longer allow account to stand over, but must request favour of a cheque by return, or will be compelled, with utmost regret, to take Further Steps. Have written to Bank to transfer Six Pounds, thirteen shillings, and tenpence from Deposit Account to Current. (This leaves Three Pounds, seven shillings, and twopence, to keep Deposit Account open.) Decide to put off paying milk book till next month, and to let cleaners have something on account instead of full settlement. This enables me to send F. and C. cheque, post-dated Dec. 1st, when allowance becomes due. Financial instability very trying.

_November 28th.

Receipt from F. and C. assuring me of attention to my future wishes—but evidently far from realising magnitude of effort involved in setting myself straight with them.

_December 1st.

Cable from dear Rose saying she lands at Tilbury on 10th. Cable back welcome, and will meet her Tilbury, Toth. Tell Vicky that her godmother, my dearest friend, is returning home after three years in America. Vicky says: “Oh, will she have a present for me?” Am disgusted with her mercenary attitude and complain to Mademoiselle, who replies: “Si la Sainte Vierge revenait sur la terre, madame, ce serait notre petite Vicky.” Do not at all agree with this. Moreover, in other moods Mademoiselle first person to refer to Vicky as “ce petit demon enrage”.

(Query: Are the Latin races always as sincere as one would wish them to be?)

_December 3rd.

Radio from dear Rose, landing Plymouth 8th after all. Send return message, renewed welcomes, and will meet her Plymouth.

Robert adopts unsympathetic attitude and says This is Waste of Time and Money. Do not know if he means cables, or journey to meet ship, but feel sure better not to enquire. Shall go to Plymouth on 7th. (_Mem_.: Pay grocer’s book before I go, and tell him last lot of gingernuts were soft.