In Paris with Sir Philip Sassoon and Georges Carpentier.
Waldo Frank and I sit on a bench in the Champs Elysées and watch the wagons going to market in the early morning. Paris seems most beautiful to me just at this time.
What a city! What is the force that has made it what it is? Could anyone conceive such a creation, such a land of continuous gaiety? It is a masterpiece among cities, the last word in pleasure. Yet I feel that something has happened to it, something that they are trying to cover by heightened plunges into song and laughter.
We stroll along the boulevard and it is growing light. I am recognised and we are being followed. We are passing a church. There is an old woman asleep on the steps, but she does not seem worn and haggard. There is almost a smile on her face as she sleeps. She typifies Paris to me. Hides her poverty behind a smile.
Sir Philip Sassoon, who is the confidential secretary to Lloyd George, calls the next day with Georges Carpentier, the pugilistic idol of France, and we are photographed many times, the three of us together, and separately.
I am quite surprised that Sir Philip is such a young man. I had pictured the secretary of Lloyd George as rather a dignified and aged person. He makes an appointment for me to dine with Lord and Lady Rocksavage the next day. Lady Rocksavage is his sister.
I also lunch with them the next day, and then to a very fashionable modiste's for some shopping. This is my first offence of this sort. I meet Lady Astor, who is shopping there also.
It was quite a treat for me, watching the models in this huge, elaborate institution that was really a palace in appointments. In fact, it greatly resembled the palace at Versailles.
I felt very meek when tall, suave creatures strolled out and swept past me, some imperious, some contemptuous. It was a studied air, but they did it well. I wonder what effect it has on the girl's mind as she parades herself before the high-born ladies and gentlemen.