Plate
I. [The Horsley Children] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece
From the picture in the possession of
Messrs. Thos. Agnew & Sons
II. [Sketch Portrait of Lady Hamilton] From the picture in the National Gallery
III. [Mrs. Mark Currie] From the picture in the National Gallery
IV. [The Parson's Daughter: a Portrait] From the picture in the National Gallery
V. [Lady with a Child] From the picture in the National Gallery
VI. [Mrs. Robinson—"Perdita"] From the picture in the Wallace Collection
VII. [Miss Benedetta Ramus] From the picture in the possession of the
Hon. W. F. D. Smith
VIII. [Miss Ramus] From the picture in the possession of the
Hon. W. F. D. Smith
Romney
CHAPTER I
THREE PERIODS OF ROMNEY'S LIFE
High over the western boundary of Cavendish Square rose a tripod wooden scaffolding, supporting a gigantic crane cutting the arch of the sky; on windy days the smoke from the engine was blown upwards into space. Below, twentieth-century mansions were growing on the site of old Harcourt House, for Cavendish Square, like the rest of London, was suffering an architectural change into something strange and new.
Some of the eighteenth-century houses remain, and as I sought No. 32, in the early summer of 1907, I wondered if this dwelling of memories had escaped the builder. Abundant memories! Into that house, through the later years of the eighteenth century, passed the flower of English loveliness, breeding, valour, brains, wit and frailty. For this was Romney's house, with the large painting-room at the back, which he, greatly daring, rented in 1775, to the satisfaction of the landlord, whose property had been untenanted since the death of Francis Cotes, R.A., five years before. Soon the great Sir Joshua showed signs of Olympian jealousy at the success of the raw man from the North, reserved, silent, moody, whose acquaintance with the beau monde did not go beyond his studio door; who worked by night on designs for "great or heroic art," and who had a genius for fixing the fleeting loveliness of a woman's face so simply and fragrantly that we liken a fine Romney to a rosebud arranged in a pattern of artless leaves.