I finished the humorous novel: "Buried Alive" on Thursday morning. Except one chapter, which I thought would be the best in the book, it is all pretty good. I handed the complete MS over to Pinker yesterday.
We have certainly been living at a great pace; at least I have. Out almost every night. Yesterday I went over the Evening News office, and much wanted to use it up for a story. Whitten came to lunch on Tuesday and ordered 16 articles. Pett Ridge came on Wednesday for lunch, and told us a funny story about a page at a ladies club who made an income by cutting politenesses out of telegrams which he was entrusted with for despatch. Lanchester dined here last night. And on Thursday night we dined with Humberston - well got up dinner - male. Wednesday dined at the Atkins'.
We have been to the Exhibition of Fair Women at the New Gallery. The clous of the show were three Sargents, all of which I should have greatly admired six years ago - and now I did not care for them at all. Ugly colouring and much mannerism. And I used to think he was a great man!