news of his death,--giving up all my plays, and going off to a lonely
hillside, where I spent the afternoon thinking of him. She interrupted
me before I had quite finished, with a quick, impulsive movement. 'I
know all that,' she said: 'I heard it all from Mrs. ---; and it was one
of the things that made me wish to know you. I think you could
understand him.' We talked for some time of him then; she, with her pale
face slightly flushed, speaking, as any other great man's widow might,
only of what was purest and best in his works, and what were his
undeniable virtues and good traits, especially in early life. She told
me many pleasant little speeches made by him to herself; and, though
there was running through all this a shade of melancholy, one could never
have conjectured that there were under all any deeper recollections than
the circumstances of an ordinary separation might bring.

Not many days after, with the unselfishness which was so marked a trait
with her, she chose a day when she could be out of her room, and invited
our family party, consisting of my husband, sister, and children, to
lunch with her.

What showed itself especially in this interview was her tenderness for
all young people. She had often enquired after mine; asked about their
characters, habits, and tastes; and on this occasion she found an
opportunity to talk with each one separately, and to make them all feel
at ease, so that they were able to talk with her. She seemed interested
to point out to them what they should see and study in London; and the
charm of her conversation left on their minds an impression that
subsequent years have never effaced. I record this incident, because it
shows how little Lady Byron assumed the privileges or had the character
of an invalid absorbed in herself, and likely to brood over her own woes
and wrongs.