April 1, 1935

 

Yesterday he invited us to dinner at the Four Seasons. I sat with him for three hours and we didn't exchange a single word. At the end he handed me an envelope with money in it, just as he's done so often before. It would have been much nicer if he had enclosed a greeting or a loving word. I would have been so pleased if he had. But he didn't think of it.

Why doesn't he come to dine with the Hoffmanns? If he did, I would at least have him to myself for a few minutes. I hope he doesn't come to see me any more - at least until the little house is ready.