Yesterday appeared the first of my series of articles in the Chronicle. In discussing the opinion of the young man of 1960 about "Chantecler" I said "the young man of 1960, whose mother's parents probably met the night before last and were rather taken with each other"! The editor cut this phrase out.
£12 odd is my share of result of nine performances of "What the Public Wants" at Glasgow recently.
I wrote to Trench on Tuesday telling him definitely I wouldn't alter the last act of "The Honeymoon".
Two thousand words of "Clayhanger" today, and an evening of heavy correspondence. And I walked twice to Hove, and once to Black Rock, and once to the end of the pier.
We had tea with Mrs. Granville Barker (Lillah McCarthy) who asked me to write a monologue for her. I said I thought I would.
Marguerite finished copying her first short story "Les Chouettes" today. And I read it. I was quietly astonished by the excellence of its construction, its little fine apercus, and its general stylishness and genuine interestingness.
I got half-way through Trevena's "Granite" and then chucked it. Fine things in it but diffuse. Too damned moral. Not widely enough occupied with emotion in general, nor with beauty. Admirable style. The work of a man who doesn't know enough. Enfin, narrow.