B. JOWETT.
My beloved friend died in 1893.
The year before his death he had the dangerous illness to which he
alludes in the above letter. Every one thought he would die. He
dictated farewell letters to all his friends by his secretary and
housekeeper, Miss Knight. On receiveing mine from him at Glen, I
was so much annoyed at its tone that I wired:
Jowett Balliol College Oxford.
I refuse to accept this as your farewell letter to me you have
been listening to some silly woman and believing what she says.
Love. MARGOT.
This telegram had a magical effect: he got steadily better and
wrote me a wonderful letter. I remember the reason that I was
vexed was because he believed a report that I had knocked up
against a foreign potentate in Rotten Row for a bet, which was not
only untrue but ridiculous, and I was getting a little impatient
of the cattishness and credulity of the West-end of London.
My week-ends at Balliol were different to my other visits. The
Master took infinite trouble over them. Once on my arrival he
asked me which of one or two men I would like to sit next to at
dinner. I said I should prefer Mr. Huxley or Lord Bowen, to which
he replied:
"I would like you to have on your other side, either to-night or
to-morrow, my friend Lord Selborne:" [Footnote: The late Earl of
Selborne.]
MARGOT (with surprise): "Since when is he your friend? I was under
the impression you disliked him."
JOWETT: "Your impression was right, but even the youngest of us
are sometimes wrong, as Dr.
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