They wrote it this week: Bogged-down future tsar is royally flushed
Extracts from diaries and letters written between June 10 and June 16
Adele Essex picked me up at three. She had been to see Ettie [Lady Desborough, whose son, the poet Julian Grenfell, had a fortnight earlier been killed on the Western Front in World War I] and talked a lot about her. Apparently she is in a most remarkable state – not even of hysterical exaltedness, but of real immunity to grief of the ordinary sort. She says she feels no sense of separation, but just consciousness of his radiance and a quite unimpared zest for life. She will not break down, wears colours, and scarcely admits she is to be pitied at all. Can it last? One feels there must be a reaction to flatness and just the daily longing. The only thing is, she has got such marvellous powers of bluffing herself that she may succeed, and then, of course, her abnormal sense of the importance of things will help. One would feel, “What does it matter to myself, or others, if I do break down and just give up?” She will always feel it of vital significance to keep her flag flying...