Dinner given by V. C. at the Farmers' Club. A sort of official world. Lionel Earle, an Irish judge, a fellow named Blair at American Embassy (who had carefully lost all his American accent, and who remembers a description of mine of the 20th Century Ltd. train in "Your United States"), a new M.P. (Name forgotten), etc. Admirable meal. Oysters Mornay to start with. Roederer 1906; a fine brandy. Most of them drank more than was quite necessary to sustain life. I was the chief guest. On my right, S. L., who praised much Lady C. said she had not got a shallow mind. usual sign of being in love. Said she had had eleven children, many dead. I said her husband ought to be ashamed, and asked if he was a Catholic? "Oh, no. Quite the reverse. He was very angry with me because I took her to a midnight mass ... I said he might call me out if he liked." Evidently serious then.
Yesterday morning I went over the Wesleyan Westminster building with Rickards. He is now gradually getting hold of me again as a great artist.