Mr. Pulitzer called for me at midday in his car and we went out to Barnard’s studio. Mr. Pulitzer had never been there. At first Mr. Barnard thought my companion was an Englishman and talked as perhaps he would not if he had known he was talking to the owner of THE WORLD. Mr. Pulitzer is so calm, so restrained, and Mr. Barnard is so overflowing with enthusiasm! I led the way to the lovely cloister and Barnard joined us there and gave us an archaeological discourse, much to the edification of two American tourist ladies who pretended not to listen, but were secretly enthralled. The American verger was terribly in evidence, and at the end, when he poses and demands one should view him from two different points, he first of all firmly closed the door on Mr. Barnard who waited outside; but who went out, I thought, a little too readily. It is a terribly put-up job, and I’m afraid Barnard connives! It spoils everything and makes the beautiful cloister laughable. Mr. Pulitzer dropped me at the Pierpont Morgans for tea. Florrie Grenfell and her husband are staying there, and have been yachting with them in the Indies. Mrs. Morgan and her daughter and son were there, the mother looked like their sister. The atmosphere of restraint and politeness among themselves gave one the impression of being with Austrian Royalties. Florrie Grenfell took me over to the library. It is a wonderful place, and inconceivable that it is a private possession. Everything is arranged and labelled as though it were a public museum. Even the bibelots have their labels, and the smallest thing on a shelf is a priceless work of art. There was a little bronze Benvenuto Cellini, a Michael Angelo baby head, a Botticelli on an easel--etc., etc. I asked if the place were open certain days a week to the public, but was told _no_. [Illustration: GEORGE GRAY BARNARD DESCRIBING HIS CLOISTERS TO CLARE SHERIDAN (Photograph by Ralph Pulitzer, Esq.) ] When we came out, I saw two men leaning against the lamp post. Florrie Grenfell said they were detectives. I asked her how she knew--she said she had been there long enough to know them by sight! Round the angle of the block, opposite the front door was another. I observed that this was rather fantastic; but the answer is that the police say they will not be responsible for Mr. Morgan’s life, and he has already been shot at! It seems to me that if he metaphorically shook hands with the world, he’d be as safe as, for instance, our Prince of Wales. The world reacts to one’s own attitude. SATURDAY, MARCH 12, 1921.