He showed no sign of moving and Jane, shaking hands with me, introduced me to him.
'Do you know Sir Reginald Frobisher?'
We began to chat.
It was the same Jane as I had known before, perfectly simple, homely and unaffected, but her fantastic appearance certainly gave a peculiar savour to what she said.
Suddenly I found myself shaking with laughter.
She had made a remark, sensible and to the point, but not in the least witty, which her manner of saying and the bland look she gave me through her eyeglass made perfectly irresistible.
I felt light-hearted and buoyant.
When I left her she said to me:
'If you've got nothing better to do, come and see us on Tuesday evening.
Gilbert will be so glad to see you.'
'When he's been a month in London he'll know that he can have nothing better to do,' said the admiral.
So, on Tuesday but rather late, I went to Jane's.
I confess I was a little surprised at the company.
It was quite a remarkable collection of writers, painters and politicians, actors, great ladies and great beauties: Mrs Tower was right, it was a grand party; I had seen nothing like it in London since Stafford House was sold.
No particular entertainment was provided.
The refreshments were adequate without being luxurious.
Jane in her quiet way seemed to be enjoying herself; I could not see that she took a great deal of trouble with her guests, but they seemed to like being there, and the gay, pleasant party did not break up till two in the morning.
After that I saw much of her.
I not only went often to her house, but seldom went out to luncheon or to dinner without meeting her.
I am an amateur of humour and I sought to discover in what lay her peculiar gift.
It was impossible to repeat anything she said, for the fun, like certain wines, would not travel.
She had no gift for epigram.
She never made a brilliant repartee.
There was no malice in her remarks nor sting in her rejoinders.
There are those who think that impropriety, rather than brevity, is the soul of wit; but she never said a thing that could have brought a blush to a Victorian cheek.
I think her humour was unconscious and I am sure it was unpremeditated.
It flew like a butterfly from flower to flower, obedient only to its own caprice and pursuivant of neither method nor intention.
It depended on the way she spoke and on the way she looked.
Its subtlety gained by the flaunting and extravagant appearance that Gilbert had achieved for her; but her appearance was only an element in it.
Now of course she was the fashion and people laughed if she but opened her mouth.
They no longer wondered that Gilbert had married a wife so much older than himself.
They saw that Jane was a woman with whom age did not count.
They thought him a devilish lucky young fellow.
The admiral quoted Shakespeare to me:
'Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety.'
Gilbert was delighted with her success.
As I came to know him better I grew to like him.
It was quite evident that he was neither a rascal nor a fortune-hunter.
He was not only immensely proud of Jane but genuinely devoted to her.
His kindness to her was touching.
He was a very unselfish and sweet-tempered young man.
'Well, what do you think of Jane now?' he said to me once, with boyish triumph.
'I don't know which of you is more wonderful,' I said. 'You or she.'
'Oh, I'm nothing.'
'Nonsense.
You don't think I'm such a fool as not to see that it's you, and you only, who've made Jane what she is.'
'My only merit is that I saw what was there when it wasn't obvious to the naked eye,' he answered.
'I can understand your seeing that she had in her the possibility of that remarkable appearance, but how in the world have you made her into a humorist?'
'But I always thought the things she said a perfect scream.
She was always a humorist.'