“True, but you are aware that as a man grows to my age his only desire is for peace. It is worth giving way in trifles to secure it.”
“In trifles, yes. But what are trifles?”
“Most things,” says Sir William with his little cynical smile. “Nothing really matters so much as we are apt to suppose.”
There was a pause. Greville could not echo that sentiment. There were things which mattered much to him personally which were bound up with Hamilton’s affairs.
“I have sometimes wondered,” he said slowly, “whether you are aware of the talk flying round the town about Emma’s intimacy with Nelson? It is accusing her in no way to allude to it, for we both know what talk is worth. Still, it is there.”
Sir William’s smile did not relax.
“Jacobin rumours from Naples and Palermo. Nelson is all that is honourable.”
“No doubt. But I assure you the scandal has reached an alarming height, and she is not meeting it wisely. This constant persecution of Lady Nelson—for so it is called—sets all sympathy against her.”
“Emma must pursue her own methods,” Sir William said coolly. “I have long ceased to be responsible for her actions. If I were to check her it would make storms in the house to which I am quite unequal. You remember her temper of old, Greville.”
“The devil of a temper, but I broke it.”