Cast down

Sunday, January 23rd., Victoria Grove, London.

After an interval of about nine months I sit down again to the composition of serious fiction; and though I make slow progress, finding myself out of practice, I experience a satisfaction deeper than I can get from any other sort of labour. Is it in my nature to be a writer, I mean a real writer? I feel that it is but I also know that I want to have material reward and I wonder whether the two things are incompatible except in a few cases. Before all else I must establish a reputation.

At Lowry and Eckhardt's studio for tea. As I went down their street I perceived Lowry and a rather pretty girl buying muffins from a muffin-man. It was dusk and a mist rising. Several men in the studio, which is large, with a good collection of antique furniture, Japanese prints and French Posters; the posters are even visible in the obscurity of the ceiling. Eckhardt with all the appearance of a simple good-natured unaffected schoolboy, was at work in his shirtsleeves on a black and white sketch. The girl presently reappeared and began to prepare afternoon tea. Everyone called her Marie. A girl about 25, dressed in black; red-gold hair, large expressive eyes; and a certain intense ecstatic expression which was matched by the low voice; obviously a favourite model of Eckhardt's.

After tea, Lowry being laid flat on the floor in front of the stove, she made the grave, moody leader writer of the Morning Post go through his tricks of catching and throwing a cushion with his feet.

Artists and their models. I must admit that I came away feeling envious of Eckhardt who is, I surmise, sleeping with Marie. It all seems so easy and natural. No self-consciousness. She hardly took any notice of me, and I could not find anything captivating to say to capture her attention, if only momentarily. Left me feeling out of sorts and generally dissatisfied with myself. Sexual frustration I suppose. As things stand I see little opportunity for relief unless I avail myself of professional services; even that may be beyond me!