Talked at

Thursday, December 23rd., Strand Palace Hotel, London.

Tuesday night Rickards dined with me. We went to "The Blue Bird" at the Haymarket, and then to Gambrinus, where he ate an enormous sandwich and drank stout. He talked about himself the whole time, except when the curtain was up, from 6.40 to 12.15. Of course this exasperated egoism was painful as a disease to witness, but his talk was exceedingly good and original. Artistically and intellectually I don't think he has gone off.

To lunch at Wells's. He and I talked his scandal from 12.15 to lunch time. I think he likes to be able to open himself up in my company, knowing that I will not be censorious. Frankly, I don't know how he finds the energy, and what is it about him that women find so compelling? He believes that he gives off a sort of sexual 'aroma' when he is looking for a conquest which arouses women and in some way lowers their defences. I wish he could gift me with some of it! Saying that, I wouldn't want the complexities of his life. Too much like hard work.

At lunch there was Robert Ross, the Sidney Lows, Mrs. Garnett, Archer, and the young Nesbit girl who was mad on the stage. I got on fairly well with Archer. I liked Ross at once. Archer bluntly asked me why I had said in print that he and Walkley were the upas-trees  of the modern drama. So I told him, less bluntly. I consider that he has no real original ideas of his own. I mean to cultivate Ross and made a point of not mentioning Oscar Wilde as I am sure he is tired to death of being questioned on that subject. If I were homosexual Ross is the sort of man I would be attracted to. He seems quite at ease with his notoriety.

All based on copulation

Wednesday, January 2nd., Yacht Club, London.

Came to London yesterday. George Paish's Food Question lunch arranged for yesterday had been put off without warning me. Rather irritating. So I lunched with Ross at the Reform.

Afterwards turkish bath with Masterman. who said that the shine of the present Honours List would be nothing to that of the List when Ll. George quitted the Premiership. He would have everything to wipe up then. What a travesty the whole business seems to me, and so many otherwise sensible men (and their wives) are consumed by it. To think that at this stage in the twentieth century, and with the greatest war the world has ever endure still going on, titles which belong in the Middle Ages are being dispensed as 'rewards'. Surely success in your chosen field of activity is sufficient reward? I would like to be offered an Honour so as to have the great pleasure of refusing it.

On reaching the Club I read the Book of Esther in the Eversley Bible which I have newly bought. A good Eastern story, exceedingly ingenuous, all based on copulation.

Poets

Tuesday, December 18th., Yacht Club, London.

Robbie Ross

To lunch at the Reform Club where I joined Robert Ross who had two young poets, Robert Graves and Philip ------ (I forget his name and am not even sure if he is a poet. I was very pleased with both these youths. Lately I am more and more struck by the certainty, strength, and unconscious self-confidence of young men, so different from my middle-aged uncertainty and also my lack of physical confidence in my own body. As an example of the latter: it has lately been cold and frosty with some light snow; as a consequence pavements have been rather slippy; a decade ago I would have been unconcerned, but now I am anxious about falling.

Ross is of course a homosexual, and remains devoted to the memory of Oscar Wilde. He was Wilde's literary executor and produced the definitive edition of his work. More recently he has worked as an art critic for the Morning Post and has mentored a number of young poets including Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen. A cultured and likeable man who has been pursued vindictively by the Marquis of Queensberry and others because of his sexual inclinations which he can no more help than I can help wanting to write. Will there come a time I wonder when homo-phobia is extinct?

This afternoon two and three quarter hours hard in which I wrote 1,200 words of "The Pretty Lady". I am finding it an interesting book to write. Rather a departure for me and I winder how it will be received. Inevitably there will be shock and a certain amount of offence taken. I hope that reaction to the content will not obscure attention to the style because I really think that it is well-written so far. I don't expect it to be a 'success' like my earlier novels, but I hope that it will stand the test of time and will come to be regarded as an important addition to my catalogue of works.