August 27th.
Kameneff came at 11.0 to give me a last sitting. He was in a much happier frame of mind, chuckling over Tchicherin’s reply to Lloyd George, which is an impudent bit of propaganda work, and all the papers have to publish it because it is official.
I awakened this morning with an excited and tired feeling, my hands trembling, which I have never known before. Kameneff arrived in much the same condition. He talked politics and got excited and worked up and produced the quizzical frown that I wanted. I worked well, and absolutely changed the whole personality of his bust, which I think he liked.
He promised, incidentally, not to wait here two weeks, but says that he will start not later than next Friday. I wonder if he keeps his promises.
Peter[3] turned up with a girl, which disturbed the sitting and I felt more and more hectic, what with the difficulties and the battle of it, and knowing that it was the last sitting, and feeling dead beat, and having finally to stop for lunch.
We lunched with Sydney Cooke at Claridges’. I introduced them to each other, and we are going to stay with Sydney at his house in the Isle of Wight, for the week-end. Like all good foreigners, Kameneff expressed a desire, some days ago, to see the Isle of Wight. So we arranged to go—I
BUST OF KAMENEFF.