I dined with the Misses Cooper Hewitt, daughters of Abram Hewitt, once Mayor of New York, quite a different atmosphere from any other in New York. Real old world, and most of the people I met talked to me about my family, remembered my grandfather and seemed to have loved my aunts. FEBRUARY 12, 1921. Finished my introduction for “Mayfair to Moscow” at one o’clock while Mr. Liveright’s messenger waited in the hall for it. At eight I dined with Mr. Wiley, and found my own photograph framed between Lenin’s and Trotzky’s. A delicate compliment which I appreciated and no one else noticed! The party consisted of the Gerards, Col. and Mrs. House, the Walter Rosens, Arthur Pollen, the English naval expert, and some others. Pollen held the table for some time on the subject of disarmament and the attitude of England, and was rather dogmatic. It was impossible to argue as he raised his voice and seemed to resent controversy. I sat next to Mr. Gerard and felt he was still the distinguished conspicuous U. S. Ambassador to Berlin of 1916--but he is like a war book--one has lost interest. He told us, however, that Mr. Harding _had told_ him that he means to invite the European premiers to Washington to confer on peace. Everyone seemed agreed that it was a grand idea; everyone seemed agreed also that it was madness to have so utterly destroyed the Central Powers. There was a general “down” on France. Mr. Pollen was right about the crumbling Europe and the necessity for peace and agreement all round. After dinner I had a little talk with Col. House whom I found very sane-minded about Russia. He agreed with me that I was right not to be drawn into political arguments, as he said it would do no good, and I would be misunderstood. FEBRUARY 13, 1921. I lunched with “The Kingfisher” as we call Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt in London! I was rather disappointed with her Fifth Avenue Palazzo, it does not compare with the Otto Kahns and has not the atmosphere. There was a beautiful Turner in one of the drawing rooms, and a gallery full of Corots and Millets, but they were not very interesting or decorative, or else there were too many of them. I sat next to my host whose trim beard and uncommunicative, rather unsmiling countenance reminded me of a Bolshevik type that I used to see at the Kremlin table d’hôte. He only needed shabby clothes and his beard a little less trim. It made me think how good looking some of the Bolsheviks would be if they were millionaires.