I got back to the studio about midday to find a huge bunch of roses and
the following note from Kameneff:--
_London, 21 Août._
_Chère Madame_,
_Je vous prie la permission de mettre ces roses rouges aux pieds de
votre belle statue de la Victoire._
_Bien à vous_,
_L. K._
I did so, and when he came at about 4 o’clock to sit, I thanked him, but
said that they were not red and that it was a pity. He looked as if he
didn’t quite understand, and said: “Yes, they are red--red for the blood
of Victory.” The sentiment was right, but he is colour blind, the roses
were pink! I did not argue.
At about 5 o’clock S---- L----, walked in unexpectedly, and was very
surprised and interested to find Kameneff, who was no less interested
at hearing from S---- L---- that Archbishop Mannix is his guest, and I
got a good innings at my work while these two talked together.
Kameneff and I dined later at the Café Royal, and then went on to a
Revue, which was very bad, but the audience laughed a good deal, and
Kameneff wondered at their childish appreciation of rubbish.