Friday, April 16th., Cadogan Square, London.
These days, going to bed early, I arise at 6.30 or 6.45, or even earlier, and do an hour's work or so before breakfast, and in addition am dressed for breakfast. I didn't dress for breakfast for years because the masseur came after breakfast. I don't have him at present , as my health is so much better (owing to him). Much of my time now, while Dorothy is in the maternity home, is taken up with her and with arranging things for her. I wrote 700 words of novel "Vanguard" in the morning and 800 in the afternoon. I was at the Home by 12 o'clock, and stayed until after 1 o'clock. Then at two I drove home - (these days I have to drive everywhere to save time; if I can manage to walk to the top of Sloane Street it is all I can do) - and slept and went on with my novel till 4.30. Then I had chores to do.
The baby has to take the air as from Tuesday next, and there is nobody to take her out, and no perambulator for her to go in. The infant still squints a bit. Otherwise she is improving daily in appearance. It is astonishing how the nurse can be genuinely fond of the kid. She must be genuinely fond of dozens of kids every year. She is a very nice woman.
I wrote to my brother Frank after the birth of Virginia:
My Dear Frank,
Official. Failing to get a divorce agreement from Marguerite, I am now in unofficial conjugal relations with one Dorothy Bennett (her own name): a daughter was born of this union at 7.30 a.m. on the 13th, and all is going well. One can never foresee what your morning post will contain. Dorothy is recognised by all friends as my wife.
Yours, A.B.
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