Recollections of George John Cayley 



casual encounter at Naples. By that time I was a grown- 

 up young lady going out with my father. 



There was one special ball in Dover Street at Lady 

 Stanley of Alderley's, into which he suddenly reappeared on 

 his return from the war in the East, where he had gone 

 out as special correspondent. 



Lady Stanley stood receiving her guests, surrounded by 

 her beautiful daughters. The great shining landing led to 

 a shining ballroom ; figures dressed (so it seemed to me) in 

 radiance and light and crowned with flowers were flitting 

 all about, and Mr. Cayley came up through the crowd. 

 He told us he had only returned home that very day, and 

 it was with the halo of unknown adventure and danger 

 about him that he met us. His clothes were not quite 

 the same as other people's clothes ; he wore a loose 

 black necktie which I dare say had been in battle with 

 him. Everybody made him welcome, and all that even- 

 ing he danced and talked and responded to his friends' 

 greetings. 



Whether in beautiful and dazzling scenes or in quiet 

 little dining-rooms and studies, his talk was always the 

 same, full of wit, full of gist. He would talk of to-day, 

 of to-morrow, of yesterday, of feelings, of plans, with end- 

 less zest and with fancy. He used to preach little sermons 

 to his partners as he stood up with them, to which they 

 listened with reverence. He had a high, harsh voice, with 

 a chord in it. 



"There is such a thing as being true to oneself," I can 

 still hear him say in a crowded back room in Chesham 

 Place ; " you must never forget that." 



Mr. Cayley had given up fancy dress and foreign experi- 

 ments by this time. He had made it all right with his 

 family and come home to live in London. As I reopen 



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