literature, and that as far as they were aware I might be the worst
kind of crook, and at the very best was in all likelihood a very great
bore.

Annie, the maid at my lodgings, handed me a bunch of mail. Mr. Belloc
was particularly eager to see me, he said. He gave me an intimate two
page account of his movements for the past couple of weeks or so. He
had just been out to sea in his boat, the _Nona_, and had only got back
after a good deal of difficulty outside; this he hoped would account
for the delay of a day or so in his reply.

During the Whitsun days he had to travel about England to see his
children at their various schools, and after that he had to go to
settle again about his boat, where she lay in a Welsh port. Then he
must speak at Eton. He would be "available," however, at the beginning
of the next week, when he hoped I would "take a meal" with him.
Perhaps he could be of some use in acquainting me with England; it
would be such a pleasure to meet me, and so on. Very nice attitude for
a man so slightly acquainted with one.

Mr. Chesterton wished to thank me for my letter and to say that he
would be pleased if I cared to come down to spend an afternoon with him
at Beaconsfield. Mr. Walpole apologised very greatly for seeming so
curtly inhospitable, but he was only in London for a short time and had
difficulty in squeezing his engagements in. This week, too, was
infernally complicated by Ascot. But couldn't I come round on Monday
to lunch with him at his club?

Mr. Chesterton is a grand man. Smokes excellent cigars. But first, as
you come up the hill, from the railway station toward the old part of