I have been spending a perfect Saturday to Monday in London. I have had
a busy week and was glad to see no one and do nothing all to-day, that
is to say, comparatively no one and nothing, as I went to the play on
Saturday night, and to-day I went to a large luncheon party at Alice's,
who is back at Bruton Street. The news is that the Shamier episode is
over, quite, quite over. There is no doubt about it. She is madly in
love with Lavroff. I don't wonder. He is so intelligent and plays
wonderfully. As for George, I don't think he cares. You will at once ask
if there is no one else. Nobody that I know of. I don't know who he sees
and what he does. He hates going out, and talks every day of giving a
dinner at his flat, but as far as I know he hasn't entertained a cat
yet.
I dined out every night last week, and gave one dinner at my flat. I
think it was a success. Freda Macdonald, Louise, Lavroff and Eileen
Hope, who sang quite beautifully. I asked Godfrey Mellor, but I really
don't know if I can ask him again to that sort of party as he didn't
utter a word. Freda liked him. But it does ruin a dinner to have a gulf
of silence in the middle of it, especially as when he does talk he can
be quite agreeable. George has gone down to the country. His sister is
here now, but she goes north next week. I believe London bores him to
death and he is longing for the summer and for his yacht. I am sorry you
can tell me nothing of Mrs Housman. I haven't seen or heard anything
more of her.
Thank you very much for the _langues de chat_. They added to the success
of my dinner. Yours, etc.,