When Whistler saw Lady Meux in her pink satin, he was certainly enchanted, but her sables inspired him with a desire to paint her again, and her diamonds enhanced another dress so greatly that his enthusiasm grew keener still, and with great skill he persuaded his sitter to allow him to embark upon three pictures or even more. Brookfield was so amused at the progress of the pictures which Whistler painted at the same time, that he (Brookfield) made a clever little sketch and caricature of the artist, his hair flying about in his wild enthusiasm, attacking the pictures with an enormously long brush. Two or three years ago, when some of Whistler's sketches were up for auction, this little drawing was sold at Christie's as a genuine Whistler for twenty pounds. A host of amusing stories come to me with the mention of Brookfield, some of which he told me himself with an incomparable drollery that was entirely typical of the man, and others which are told of him by his friends. When he contemplated going upon the stage as a young man, many of his friends remonstrated with him and endeavoured to persuade him to abandon his decision. A near relation also wrote begging him not to embark upon such a career, terminating his letter with a final appeal, "I beg of you," he wrote, "not to go upon the stage--in the name of Christ." "I have no intention of acting under any other name but my own," wrote the irrepressible young man in return. When he had been upon the stage some time, he met by chance one of the friends who had ranged himself on the side of the opposers. "Hullo, Charlie," he said, rather condescendingly. "Still--er--on the stage?" "Oh yes," replied our friend. "And you--still in the Commons?" I am indebted to a mutual friend, Mr. William Elliot, for the following story of Brookfield in later years. My friend met him one day with his wife in Jermyn Street; the next time he saw him Brookfield remarked-- "It was so lucky I met you the other day, for it enabled me to tell my wife something I have always been too shy to tell her before--that I have become a Catholic." (Mrs. Brookfield had always been a Papist.) "What nonsense," replied my friend. "How could my meeting you and your wife start you on a confession of that nature?" "Very simple," said "Brooks." "The moment you had gone I said to Ruth, 'What a pleasure it is to meet Willie Elliot--always the same--bright and agreeable. All these years that I have known him I have only one thing against him!' "'What is that?' said Mrs. Brookfield. "'He's a heretic!'" replied "Brooks." A very typical story is told of how he wrote to the editor of _The Lancet_ suggesting that they should publish a Christmas number, and offering to write a humorous story entitled "My first Post-Mortem!"