I knew it, Bungie⁠—I knew it, I knew it! I knew we should be asked downstairs to tea. And we’ve been! Down among the Liberty curtains and the brass Benares ware! Three young women, two bright youths, the local parson and the family. Crockery from Heal’s and everything too conscientiously bright. Mrs. Harrison all radiance and very much the centre of attraction.

No sooner had I got there than I was swept into a discussion about “this wonderful man Einstein.” Extraordinarily interesting, wasn’t it, and what did I make of it? Displaying all my social charm, I said I thought it was a delightful idea. I liked thinking that all the straight lines were really curly, and only wished I’d known all about it at school, because it would have annoyed the geometry master so much.

“But you do think there’s something in it, don’t you? My husband says it is all nonsense, but what do you say?”

There was a little stir of triumph about this, and I somehow gathered that the Einstein topic had been deliberately chosen for a purpose. I said guardedly that I believed the theory was now generally accepted by mathematicians, though with very many reserves.

“It really is, is it? Really true that nothing actually exists as we see it? I do hope so, because I have always felt so strongly that materialism is all wrong. There is something so deadening about materialism, isn’t there? I do so wish I knew what life means and what we really are. But I can’t understand these things, and, you know, I should so like to, if only I had someone to explain them to me.”

“As far as I can make out,” I replied, “you are really only made up of large lumps of space, loosely tied together with electricity. It doesn’t sound flattering, but there it is.”

She frowned attractively.

“But I can’t believe that.”

“Why do you want to believe it?” said Harrison. “It’s all words. When it comes to doing anything practical you have to come back to common sense. My friend Professor Alcock⁠—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She waved the interruption aside impatiently. “But the idea is the real thing, isn’t it? Haven’t they come round to thinking that poetry and imagination and the beautiful things of the mind are the only true realities after all?”

“Of course beauty is the only true reality,” said Lathom eagerly. “But it isn’t always what ordinary people think of as beauty. I mean, it’s not pretty-pretty. When you think a thing, then you create it and it exists. What’s the use of arguing what you make it of? That doesn’t matter to the thing itself, any more than the stuff paints are made of matter to the picture.”

“It matters a good deal in practice,” said Harrison. “Now the Pre-Raphaelites understood that⁠—though, mind you, I don’t think much of the Pre-Raphaelite school myself. Some of their pictures are so remarkably ugly, and so exaggerated in colour. Take that thing of Holman Hunt’s, now⁠—”

“Darling,” said Mrs. Harrison, with emphasis, “you’re sidetracking.”

“No, I’m not. I’m coming back to that. What I mean is that the Pre-Raphaelites, especially William Morris, knew a great deal about the material of their paints. They used to get the right stuff and grind it themselves, so as to be sure it wasn’t adulterated. Now I’m all of their opinion. I say they were quite right. I get my colours from a man up in town, a wholesale dealer⁠—”

“My husband is always so literal,” said Mrs. Harrison, taking the whole company into a confederacy to condemn the unfortunate man. “But I didn’t mean that at all. Mr. Lathom understands what I mean⁠—don’t you, Mr. Lathom?”

“Yes,” said Lathom, “and, of course, it’s true in a way. But you mustn’t think that the form of the thing doesn’t matter, too. Whatever the world is made of, there it is, and it’s ours to make something of.”

“It must be marvellous to paint great pictures!” said one of the young women.

Lathom scowled frightfully, and, ostentatiously ignoring her, continued his remarks to Mrs. Harrison in an undertone.

What a conversation, my God! Harrison faded out and I don’t blame him, and I took the opportunity to tackle the parson, a fellow by the name of Perry. He turned out to be an earnest and cultivated middle-aged spike from Keble, and I took the opportunity to mention the Life and the difficulties about Victorian materialism.

“Yes,” he said, “we’ve rather got past that stage now, haven’t we? I’ve got one or two books that I think might be useful to you, as giving the point of view and all that. Shall I send them over?”

I said it was very good of him (not expecting much from it), and, by way of a leg-pull, asked him what he thought of relativity.

“Why, I’m rather grateful to it,” said he, “it makes my job much easier. We’ll have a chat some day and go into it. I must be going now.”

He oozed competently away, and the party rambled on till I could stand it no longer and rambled out into the passage, where I met Harrison.

“Hullo!” said he, “come and have a pipe in the studio. And a whiskey-and-soda or something. Better than tea.”

I went in, expecting him to talk Art, but he didn’t. He just sat smoking in silence and I did likewise. I had an idea I ought to say something to him, but nothing presented itself. If I had said what I felt like saying, he would have been angry with me.

So much for social life in Suburbia. I had a letter from Jim on Wednesday. He is thoroughly enjoying himself in Germany, and begs to be remembered to you. He is reading hard⁠—or so he says⁠—and he’d jolly well better, the young cub, since if he fails in his tripos there’s no money to give him another year there and he’ll have to go as an apothecary’s apprentice or something. I haven’t looked up Cynthia or the Brierleys yet, but I will pull myself together and do it before long.

Love to everybody. Wish I was up north with you among the burrns and birrds. Give the Guv’nor my love. Has he had good sport? I suppose the hills are beginning to look a bit grim again now, bless their granite hearts. Remember me to all the artist fraternity.

Ever and ever yours, funny-face, old dear. I’d like to see your cheery grin now and again. I must be damned fond of you⁠—sometimes it positively puts me off my stroke. Damned inconvenient. I shall really have to see about this marriage business. I cannot have my work interrupted in this way.