On bended knees, with fervent lips, Wrestled with Satan Pickering Phipps, But when for aid he ceased to beg, The wily devil broke his leg!

He spent every holiday with us and I do not think he ever missed being with us on the anniversary of Laura’s death, whether I was at home or abroad.  He was a man in a million, the last of the wits, and I miss him every day of my life.

Lord Midleton [Footnote:  The Right Hon. the Earl of Midleton, of Peper, Harow, Godalming.]—­better known as St. John Brodrick—­was my first friend of interest; I knew him two years before I met Arthur Balfour or any of the Souls.  He came over to Glen while he was staying with neighbours of ours.

I wired to him not long ago to congratulate him on being made an Earl and asked him in what year it was that he first came to Glen; this is his answer: 

Jan. 12th, 1920.  Dearest Margot,

I valued your telegram of congratulation the more that I know you and Henry (who has given so many and refused all) attach little value to titular distinctions.  Indeed, it is the only truly democratic trait about you, except a general love of Humanity, which has always put you on the side of the feeble.  I am relieved to hear you have chosen such a reliable man as Crewe—­with his literary gifts—­to be the only person to read your autobiography.

My visit to Glen in R—­y’s company was October, 1880, when you were sixteen.  You and Laura flashed like meteors on to a dreary scene of empty seats at the luncheon table (the shooting party didn’t come in) and filled the room with light, electrified the conversation and made old R—­y falter over his marriage vows within ten minutes.  From then onwards, you have always been the most loyal and indulgent of friends, forgetting no one as you rapidly climbed to fame, and were raffled for by all parties—­from Sandringham to the crossing-sweeper.

Your early years will sell the book.

Bless you.

St. John.

St. John Midleton was one of the rare people who tell the truth.  Some people do not lie, but have no truth to tell; others are too agreeable—­or too frightened—­and lie; but the majority are indifferent:  they are the spectators of life and feel no responsibility either towards themselves or their neighbour.

He was fundamentally humble, truthful and one of the few people I know who are truly loyal and who would risk telling me, or any one he loved, before confiding to an inner circle faults which both he and I think might be corrected.  I have had a long experience of inner circles and am constantly reminded of the Spanish proverb, “Remember your friend has a friend.”  I think you should either leave the room when those you love are abused or be prepared to warn them of what people are thinking.  This is, as I know to my cost, an unpopular view of friendship, but neither St. John nor I would think it loyal to join in the laughter or censure of a friend’s folly.