11 April 1921 – 17 April 1921

I must hurriedly note more symptoms of the disease, so that I can turn back here and medicine myself next time. Well; I’d worn through the acute stage and come to the philosophic semi-depressed, indifferent, spent the afternoon taking parcels round the shops, going to Scotland Yard for my purse, when L. met me at tea and dropped into my ear the astonishing news that Lytton thinks the String Quartet “marvellous.” This came through Ralph, who doesn’t exaggerate, to whom Lytton need not lie; and did for a moment flood every nerve with pleasure, so much so that I forgot to buy my coffee and walked over Hungerford Bridge twanging and vibrating. A lovely blue evening too, the river sky colour. And then there was Roger who thinks I’m on the track of real discoveries and certainly not a fake. And we’ve broken the record of sales, so far. And I’m not nearly so pleased as I was depressed; and yet in a state of security; fate cannot touch me; the reviewers may snap; and the sales decrease. What I had feared, was that I was dismissed as negligible.