I was not awed by this, but asked them to a luncheon party; and
they both accepted. I need hardly say that when they met they
talked with fluency and interest, for it was as impossible for
Gladstone to be gauche or rude as it was for any one to be ill at
ease with Randolph Churchill. The news of their lunching with us
spread all over London; and the West-end buzzed round me with
questions: all the political ladies, including the Duchess of
Manchester, were torn with curiosity to know whether Randolph was
going to join the Liberal Party. I refused to gratify their
curiosity, but managed to convey a general impression that at any
moment our ranks, having lost Mr. Chamberlain, were going to be
reinforced by Lord Randolph Churchill.
The Duchess of Manchester (who became the late Duchess of
Devonshire) was the last great political lady in London society as
I have known it. The secret of her power lay not only in her
position--many people are rich and grand, gay and clever and live
in big houses--but in her elasticity, her careful criticisms, her
sense of justice and discretion. She not only kept her own but
other people's secrets; and she added to a considerable effrontery
and intrepid courage, real kindness of heart. I have heard her
reprove and mildly ridicule all her guests, both at Compton Place
and at Chatsworth, from the Prince of Wales to the Prime Minister.
I asked her once what she thought of a certain famous lady, whose
arrogance and vulgarity had annoyed us all, to which she answered:
"I dislike her too much to be a good judge of her.
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