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In her heart of hearts she rather wished to see Rood Hall. She was
curious to behold the extent and magnitude of Mr. Smithson's
possessions. She had seen his Italian villa in Park Lane, the perfection
of modern art, modern skill, modern taste, reviving the old eternally
beautiful forms, recreating the Pitti Palace--the homes of the
Medici--the halls of dead and gone Doges--and now she was told that Rood
Hall--a genuine old English manor-house, in perfect preservation--was
even more interesting than the villa in Park Lane. At Rood Hall there
were ideal stables and farm, hot-houses without number, rose gardens,
lawns, the river, and a deer park.
So the invitation was accepted, and Mr. Smithson immediately laid
himself at Lesbia's feet, as it were, with regard to all other
invitations for the Henley festival. Whom should he ask to meet
her?--whom would she have?
'You are very good,' she said, 'but I have really no wish to be
consulted. I am not a royal personage, remember. I could not presume to
dictate.'
'But I wish you to dictate.


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