Lyttelton, among us. She was the daughter of Sir Henry
Ponsonby, Queen Victoria's famous private secretary, and one of
the strongest Liberals I ever met. Her sister Maggie, though
socially uncouth, had a touch of her father's genius; she said of
a court prelate to me one day at Windsor Castle:
"There goes God's butler!"
It was through Betty and Maggie Ponsonby that I first met my
beloved friend, Lady Desborough. Though not as good-looking as the
beauties I have catalogued, nor more intellectual than Lady Horner
or Lady Wemyss, Lady Desborough was the cleverest of us. Her
flavour was more delicate, her social sensibility finer; and she
added to chronic presence of mind undisguised effrontery. I do not
suppose she was ever unconscious in her life, but she had no self-
pity and no egotism. She was not an artist in any way: music,
singing, flowers, painting and colour left her cold. She was not a
game-player nor was she sporting and she never invested in parlour
tricks; yet she created more fun for other people than anybody.
She was a woman of genius, who, if subtly and accurately
described, either in her mode of life, her charm, wits or
character, would have made the fortune of any novelist. To an
outsider she might--like all over-agreeable femmes du monde--give
an impression of light metal, but this would be misleading. Etty
Desborough was fundamentally sound, and the truest friend that
ever lived. Possessed of social and moral sang-froid of a high
order, she was too elegant to fall into the trap of the candid
friend, but nevertheless she could, when asked, give both counsel
and judgment with the sympathy of a man and the wisdom of a god.
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