I laughed and asked: “Are you unaccustomed to this attitude in woman?” At that moment a secretary came in, and I cannot think why they were both so amused. They talked rapid Russian together, and laughed a good deal.
When the secretary had gone, he became serious and asked me a few questions. Did I work hard in London? I said it was my life. How many hours a day? An average of seven. He made no comment on this, but it seemed to satisfy him. Until then, I had the feeling that, although he was charming to me, he looked upon me a little resentfully as a bourgeoise. I believe that he always asks people, if he does not know them, about their work and their origin, and makes up his mind about them accordingly. I showed him photographs of some of my busts and also of “Victory.” He was emphatic in not liking the “Victory,” his point being that I had made it too beautiful.
I protested that the sacrifice involved made Victory beautiful, but he would not agree. “That is the fault of bourgeois art, it always beautifies.”
I looked at him fiercely. “Do you accuse me of bourgeois art?”
“I accuse you!” he answered, then held up the photograph of Dick’s bust. “I do not accuse you of embellishing this, but I pray you not to embellish me.”
He then looked at Winston. “Is that Churchill himself? You have embellished him.” He seemed to have this on the brain.
I said: “Give me a message to take back to Winston.”
He answered: “I have already sent him a message through the Delegation, and he answered it not directly, but through a bitter newspaper
