I was much more afraid of spoiling Henry's life than my own, and
what with old ties and bothers, and new ties and stepchildren, I
deliberated a long time before the final fixing of my wedding-day.
I had never met any of his children except little Violet when I
became engaged and he only took me to see them once before we were
married, as they lived in a villa at Redhill under the charge of a
kind and careful governess; he never spoke of them except one day
when, after my asking him if he thought they would hate me and
cataloguing my grave imperfections and moderate qualifications for
the part, he stopped me and said that his eldest son, Raymond, was
remarkably clever and would be devoted to me, adding thoughtfully:
"I think--and hope--he is ambitious."
This was a new idea to me: we had always been told what a wicked
thing ambition was; but we were a fighting family of high spirits
and not temper, so we had acquiesced, without conforming to the
nursery dictum. The remark profoundly impressed me and I pondered
it over in my heart. I do not think, by the way, that it turned
out to be a true prophecy, but Raymond Asquith had such unusual
intellectual gifts that no one could have convicted him of lack of
ambition. To win without work, to score without an effort and to
delight without premeditation is given to few.
One night after our engagement we were dining with Sir Henry and
Lady Campbell-Bannerman. While the women were talking and the men
drinking, dear old Mrs.
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