This is the spiritual truth about [Elizabeth] Bibesco: the fact that she lies in bed, in green crepe de chine, with real diamonds on her fingers, & a silk quilt, & thinks she talks brilliantly to the most intellectual set in London - so she does, to Desmond, & Mortimer, & poor Philip Ritchie, & I was half in a rage having sacrificed my Mozart 5tet to her, from which I should have got gallons of pure pleasure instead of the breakfast cup of rather impure delight.  For it had its fun.