I did not discuss the subject in which she was so absorbed, but limited my conversations to generalities, lest by adverse criticism I might disturb the charm of expression I found in her face. [Illustration: ADMIRAL SIR COMPTON DOMVILLE, 1906.] [Illustration: MISS CHRISTABEL PANKHURST, 1908.] CHAPTER VIII MY CLUBS The Arts Club.--Mrs. Frith's funeral.--The sympathetic waiter.--Swinburne.--Whistler.--Edmund Yates.--The Orleans Club.--Sir George Wombwell.--"Hughie" Drummond.--"Fatty" Coleman.--Lady Meux.--The Prize Fighter and her nephew.--The Curate.--The Theobald's Tiger.--Whistler and his pictures.-- Charles Brookfield.--Mrs. Brookfield.--The Lotus Club.--Kate Vaughan.--Nellie Farren.--The Lyric Club.--The Gallery Club. --Some Members.--The Jockey Club Stand.--My plunge on the turf.--The Beefsteak Club.--Toole and Irving.--The Fielding Club.--Archie Wortley.--Charles Keene.--The Amateur Pantomime. --Some of the caste.--Corney Grain.--A night on Ebury Bridge. --The Punch Bowl Club.--Oliver Wendell Holmes.--Lord Houghton and the herring. "The pleasantest society is that where the members feel a warm respect for one another."--_Goethe_. It was in 1874 that my parents left London and returned to Windsor, and I being obliged to remain in town, took rooms in Connaught Street, and a studio in William Street, Lowndes Square. I also joined the Arts Club, Hanover Square, and finding that dining alone had its drawbacks, especially after the delightful family life at home, I frequently used my club as a more sociable place to have my meals in. There was also a pearl among waiters whose sympathetic and also clairvoyant sense enabled him to tell by one's expression exactly what one wanted. If one came in looking fit he would say perhaps, "Ah, yes! I think so-and-so to-day," or if one came in jaded and weary, he would wheedle one into a chair and say in tactful tones, just tinged with sadness, "Leave it to me, sir." But if simultaneously another member burst in with hilarious mood and cried, "Now then, Shave, what have you for dinner?" the obliging creature would be waiting for him with a bright reflection of his mood and suggest some quite appropriate and savoury dish. Shave was my mainstay in many a dark hour. I shall always remember the only time he disappointed me. I had been to my godmother's funeral, and feeling tired--the black coaches and all the inevitable solemnity of death had oppressed me--when arriving at the door of my club, I saw a very funereal looking carriage outside the door, which reminded me very forcibly of the scene I had just left. Throwing off the growing feeling of depression, I bethought me of my lunch, and, consoled with the remembrance of the coming tact of my attendant waiter, I walked quickly into the club. Not seeing him, I said to the hall porter, "Where's Shave?" "He's in that carriage, sir!" replied the man. "At least, 'is corpse is."