I arrived here from Worsel last night, and found Mrs Housman, Lady
Jarvis, George, who sailed here in his yacht from Cowes, and Godfrey
Mellor. It is the most delicious place. A blue sea with pink and purple
streaks in it, and a soft west wind, and wonderful sand beaches, thick
with people. It is the height of the season. The Housmans have got a
comfortable little house near a golf links. Housman has had to go to
London to see his partner, Carrington-Smith, who has been threatened
with divorce by his wife, who accuses him of infidelity with--who do you
think?--Eileen Hope. "Bert" is by way of coming down here on Saturday.
George is radiantly happy. I don't think she's thinking about him. He
wanted us all to go out in his yacht this afternoon, but as it was
blowing half a gale Mrs Housman was the only one who faced the elements.
She is a passionately good sailor and the rougher it is the more she
enjoys it. I played golf with a General York who lives here. Godfrey
Mellor doesn't play, which is tiresome. We are having the greatest fun.
Lady Jarvis is in the most splendid form. She told us some killing
stories about Mrs Carrington-Smith. She says that the whole of last year
she would only eat raw roots and uncooked fruit because she says in a
former existence she was a priestess of I sis, and that was the rule.
Lady Jarvis pointed out to her that she is not a priestess of I sis now,
but she said that if she ate meat it would spoil her chance of serving
Isis again in her next existence. She said, too, that it would displease
the elementals. Mrs Housman seems perfectly happy and cheerful. Mellor
is depressed, but I am terribly sorry for him. I feel he was having
such a divine time here before we all came.
GREY FARM,
_Monday, August_ 23_rd_.