“In that case he would have managed to meet her even had I not taken him in hand.”
“Logical but doubtful. He had long since lost the entrée to Bath House and to all the Great Houses. Only you, worse luck, had the power to bring him into a circle where he was able to meet the girl.”
“Then you must admit that I have done some good. Had he not been able to meet her, he no doubt would have gone from bad to worse. I at least have been the medium in his reform, the necessary medium.”
“I don’t believe in reform.”
“You were brought up at the court of George IV.”
“So were you, and therefore should have more sense. Warner is temporarily set up. No doubt of that. He feels a new man and looks like one. No doubt he has sworn never to drink again and means it. But wait till the honeymoon has turned to green cheese. Wait till he begets another poem. Poets to my mind have neither more nor less than a rotten spot in the brain that breaks out periodically, as hidden diseases break out in the body. Look at poor Byron.”
It was Lady Hunsdon’s turn to be satiric. “Poor dear Byron must have had a row of rotten spots one of which was always in eruption. One may judge not so much by his achievements as by his performances.”
“Never mind!” cried Lady Constance, the colour deepening in her pendulous cheeks streaked with purple. “He was the most beautiful mortal that ever breathed and I was in love with him and am proud of it.”
“I feel much more original that I was not——”