November 9 + 

Dined at the Devonshire Club in St. James’s Street, W., with Dr. H⁠⸺⁠and Mr. ⸻, the latter showing the grave symptomatic phenomena of a monocle and spats. A dinner of eight courses. Only made one mistake⁠—put my salad on my dish instead of on the side dish. Horribly nervous and reticent. I was apparently expected to give an account of myself and my abilities⁠—and with that end in view, they gave me a few pokes in my cranial ribs. But I am a peculiar animal, and, before unbosoming myself, I would require a happier mise-en-scène than a West End Club, and a more tactful method of approach than ogling by two professors, who seemed to think I was a simple penny-in-the-slot machine. I froze from sheer nervousness and nothing resulted. + 