PEOPLE AND THINGS
By HAROLD NICOLSON
T ONCE, in all innocence, asked a very intellectual friend 1 of mine what form his day-dreams took. He glanced at me in disgust as if I had probed some secret vice. " Day- dreams?" he said, " that is a weakness in which I hope I shall never indulge." I was humiliated by this rejoinder, since for me day-dreams have always been a pleasurable form of relaxation. I said: " But do you honestly mean that you never day-dream at all?" " Not," he snapped (and there was no pity in his sneer) " since I was at my private school." " Oh!" I answered, much mortified, and started to talk rapidly and well about the relations between Barry and Pugin.