“Anyway, I think I’m doing a film next year,” said David. He did not think anything of the land, but he was always saying things like that. And so he and Wyndham left it. The project seemed sufficiently vague for me to feel it wiser not to intervene, and in any case, I knew David would be quite clear about where I stood on the subject: the provinces have never appealed to me, except as curiosities. But being clear about my position has never influenced David as much as I think it should, so being aware of this, I did a little investigation of my own about the Hereford scheme, to which stray references grew sadly thicker in the succeeding weeks. It appeared that a new theatre was being built there, and that Wyndham Farrar was to open it next spring with a season of plays. With his sanction, the whole affair would obviously be a classy, well-financed occasion, not a dutiful pinch and scrape. The names of various prominent artists had already been mentioned in connection with it, and at least twenty-five percent of them would probably go. I had not seriously intended my crack about the fifteen pounds a week salary: I knew that David would be able to get more than that out of them. But on the other hand, our standard of expenditure was so absurdly high that we would need more than any straight classical work out of London or indeed in it would be likely to bring. I cannot think what we spent our money on: the mortgage of the house, I suppose, which was the only sensible project I ever persuaded him to undertake, and the usual wasteful nonsense of clothes and drinks and ridiculous toys and excursions. I mean excursions, not holidays: we never went away, but we spent a fortune on days at the zoo, in Brighton, on river trips, in weekend hotels of vast luxury. For someone not born to money David certainly knows how to spend: he is wonderfully extravagant, and has no idea of saving or of value. Compared with him I am as mean as hell; he was brought up in poverty and I in professional comfort, and this may have something to do with it. He used to shock me at times, with his taxis and his double whiskies. I wondered what would happen to him if he had to do without. I am always trying to do without, just to practice, just in case, and this annoys him; it is sad to see how often in a domestic situation one’s virtues can become a curse. His extravagance is one of the things in him that I have always loved.