The House has been unwontedly quiet and good the last two days owing to the absence of both Graham (who has been away some time) and Whitmore. Whitmore seems to have taken to his bed with a high temperature and sore throat.
This afternoon walked up with Father to Webb-Miles and chose a new tweed suit which I think will be rather nice.
We had rather a good reading of Richard II, Reed, the master, came up and took Bolingbroke (whom by-the-bye John Sargeaunt calls Bullingbroke), I was Richard, Low: John of Gaunt, and of the others Ham was good as the Duke of York and perhaps Mellor as the Queen. I always get so sat upon, I hardly venture now to say that Richard II is one of my favourite plays. I am quite aware of its imperfections, the horrid trick of rhymed couplets and the crudeness of some of the work, but the character of Richard appeals to me and his speeches especially towards the end are magnificent. I don’t know why but the play fascinates me. I know many parts of it almost by heart and most of Richard’s speeches I have learnt for pleasure.
Everybody was in their Dormitories, I am glad to say, when I went round at 9.25