This interested me, as Charty and I had not spoken to each other of Sir Alfred Lyall, who was a new acquaintance of ours.

Margot:  “I am sure, Master, you did not give her the same answer as Mr. Huxley gave me; you don’t think well of my sex, do you?”

Jowett:  “You are not the person to reproach me, Margaret:  only the other week I reproved you for saying women were often dull, sometimes dangerous and always dishonourable.  I might have added they were rarely reasonable and always courageous.  Would you agree to this?”

Margot:  “Yes.”

I sat between Sir Alfred Lyall and Lord Bowen that night at dinner.  There was more bouquet than body about Sir Alfred and, to parody Gibbon, Lord Bowen’s mind was not clouded by enthusiasm; but two more delightful men never existed.  After dinner, Huxley came across the room to me and said that the Master had confessed he had done him out of sitting next to me, so would I talk to him?  We sat down together and our conversation opened on religion.

There was not much juste milieu about Huxley.  He began by saying God was only there because people believed in Him, and that the fastidious incognito, “I am that I am,” was His idea of humour, etc., etc.  He ended by saying he did not believe any man of action had ever been inspired by religion.  I thought I would call in Lord Bowen, who was standing aimlessly in the middle of the room, to my assistance.  He instantly responded and drew a chair up to us.  I said to him: 

“Mr. Huxley challenges me to produce any man of action who has been directly inspired by religion.”

Bowen (with A Sleek smile):  “Between us we should be able to answer him, Miss Tennant, I think.  Who is your man?”

Every idea seemed to scatter out of my brain.  I suggested at random: 

“Gordon.”

I might have been reading his thoughts, for it so happened that Huxley adored General Gordon.

Huxley:  “Ah!  There you rather have me!”

He had obviously had enough of me, for, changing the position of his chair, as if to engage Bowen in a tete-a-tete, he said: 

“My dear Bowen, Gordon was the most remarkable man I ever met.  I know him well; he was sincere and disinterested, quite incapable of saying anything he did not think.  You will hardly believe me, but one day he said in tones of passionate conviction that, if he were to walk round the corner of the street and have his brains shot out, he would only be transferred to a wider sphere of government.”

Bowen:  “Would the absence of brains have been of any help to him?”

After this, our mutual good humour was restored and I only had time for a word with Mrs. Green before the evening was ruined by Jowett taking us across the quad to hear moderate music in the hideous Balliol hall.  Of all the Master’s women friends, I infinitely preferred Mrs. T. H. Green, John Addington Symonds’ sister.  She is among the rare women who have all the qualities which in moments of disillusion I deny to them.