Henry's first wife, Helen Asquith, was an exceptionally pretty,
refined woman; never dull, never artificial, and of single-minded
goodness; she was a wonderful wife and a devoted mother, but was
without illusions and even less adventurous than her children. She
told me in one of our talks how much she regretted that her
husband had taken silk and was in the House of Commons, at which I
said in a glow of surprise:
"But surely, Mrs. Asquith, you are ambitious for your husband!
Why, he's a WONDERFUL man!"
This conversation took place in Grosvenor Square the second time
that we met, when she brought her little girl to see me. Violet
was aged four and a self-possessed, plump, clever little creature,
with lovely hair hanging in Victorian ringlets down her back.
The children were not like Helen Asquith in appearance, except
Raymond, who had her beautiful eyes and brow; but, just as they
had none of their father's emotion and some of his intellect, they
all inherited their mother's temperament, with the exception of
Violet, who was more susceptible to the new environment than her
brothers. The greatest compliment that was ever paid to my
appearance--and one that helped me most when I felt discouraged
in my early married life--was what Helen Asquith said to my
husband and he repeated to me: "There is something a little noble
about Margot Tennant's expression."
If my stepchildren were patient with me, I dare not say what their
father was: there are some reservations the boldest biographer has
a right to claim; and I shall only write of my husband's
character--his loyalty, lack of vanity, freedom from self, warmth
and width of sympathy--in connection with politics and not with
myself; but since I have touched on this subject I will give one
illustration of his nature.
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