The Lawrences arrived as planned, and went first to Garland's Hotel for a couple of days. Coming up for a half-day from the country, I saw them there, and arranged that they should have the loan of my younger brother's flat—then unoccupied—in Gower Street. Leaving their luggage at the flat, they would pay a visit to the Midlands, and would return to see a few friends before going to Italy by November. Lawrence did not speak of his health, and, as usual, there was nothing of the invalid about him; but under his big-brimmed Mexican hat his face looked pinched and small, and one easily guessed that he could not face London in the winter. Neither could he yet afford the sort of comfortable house somewhere on the south coast where he might have stayed safely if there had been enough interest or friendship to make England attractive to him. On this occasion he seemed very solitary in London.

This particular solitude was of his own making, as he had told hardly anyone of his arrival. He could not bring himself to do so. However, as our cottage was only three miles from High Wycombe and he could break his journey there on the way north, he said he would spend a day and night with us.