When I first came out in London we had no friends of fashion to get me invitations to balls and parties.  The Walters, who were my mother’s rich relations, in consequence of a family quarrel were not on speaking terms with us; and my prospects looked by no means rosy.

One day I was lunching with an American to whom I had been introduced in the hunting-field and found myself sitting next to a stranger.  Hearing that he was Arthur Walter, I thought that it would be fun to find out his views upon my family and his own.  He did not know who I was, so I determined I would enjoy what looked like being a long meal.  We opened in this manner: 

Margot:  “I see you hate Gladstone!”

Arthur Walter:  “Not at all.  I hate his politics.”

Margot:  “I didn’t suppose you hated the man.”

Arthur Walter:  “I am ashamed to say I have never even seen him or heard him speak, but I entirely agree that for the Duke of Westminster to have sold the Millais portrait of him merely because he does not approve of Home Rule shows great pettiness!  I have of course never seen the picture as it was bought privately.”

Margot:  “The Tennants bought it, so I suppose you could easily see it.”

Arthur Walter:  “I regret to say that I cannot ever see this picture.”

Margot:  “Why not?”

Arthur Walter:  “Because though the Tennants are relations of mine, our family quarrelled.”

Margot:  “What did they quarrel over?”

Arthur Walter:  “Oh, it’s a long story!  Perhaps relations quarrel because they are too much alike.”

Margot:  “You are not in the least like the Tennants!”

Arthur Walter:  “What makes you say that?  Do you know them?”

Margot:  “Yes, I do.”

Arthur Walter:  “In that case perhaps you could take me to see the picture.”

Margot:  “Oh, certainly! ...  And I know Mr. Gladstone too!”

Arthur Walter:  “What a fortunate young lady!  Perhaps you could manage to take me to see him also.”

Margot:  “All right.  If you will let me drive you away from lunch in my phaeton, I will show you the Gladstone picture.”

Arthur Walter:  “Are you serious?  Do you know them well enough?”

Margot (nodding confidently):  “Yes, yes, don’t you fret!”

After lunch I drove him to 40 Grosvenor Square and, when I let myself in with my latch-key, he guessed who I was, but any interest he might have felt in this discovery was swamped by what followed.

I opened the library door.  Mr. Gladstone was sitting talking to my parents under his own portrait.  After the introduction he conversed with interest and courtesy to my new relation about the Times newspaper, its founder and its great editor, Delane.