ld describe
Haslemere with all the shops shut, rain falling, and most of the
inhabitants in their cups." She told me later--for we followed our
Zola to _Lourdes_ and _Paris_--that some young Oxford prig saw _La
Bete Humaine_ lying on the table at Charles Street, and remarked
that Lady Dorothy could surely not be aware that that was "no book
for a lady." She said, "I told him it was just the book for me!"

She read Disraeli's novels over again, from time to time, with a
renewal of sentiment. "I am dedicating my leisure hours to
_Endymion_. What a charm after the beef and mutton of ordinary
novels!" She gradually developed a cult for Swinburne, whom she had
once scorned; in her repentance after his death, she wrote: "I
never hear enough about that genius Swinburne! My heart warms when
I think of him and read his poems." I think she was very much
annoyed that he had never been a visitor at Charles Street. When
Verlaine was in England, to deliver a lecture, in 1894, Lady
Dorothy was insistent that, as I was seeing him frequently, I
should bring the author of _Parallelement_ to visit her. She
said--I think under some illusion--"Verlaine is one of my pet
poets, though," she added, "not of this world." I was obliged to
tell her that neither Verlaine's clothes, nor his person, nor his
habits, admitted of his being presented in Mayfair, and that,
indeed, it was difficult to find a little French eating-house in
Soho where he could be at home. She then said: "Why can't you take
me to see him in this eating-house?" I had to explain that of the
alternatives that was really the least possible. She was not
pleased.

Nor am I pleased with this attempt of mine to draw the features of
our wonderful fairy friend. However I may sharpen the pencil, the
line it makes is still too heavy. I feel that these anecdotes seem
to belie her exquisite refinement, the rapidity and delicacy of her
mental movement. To tell them is like stroking the wings of a moth.
Above all, it is a matter of despair to attempt to define her
emotional nature. Lady Dorothy Nevill was possessed neither of
gravity nor of pathos; she was totally devoid of sentimentality.
This made it easy for a superficial observer to refuse to believe
that the author of so many pungent observations and such appa