' That was Sir George's test
of all public effort, as it had been what he applied to himself. There
could be none higher.
Mere weight of years could not quench the ardour and hope which had
always burned so brightly in Sir George Grey. As well expect him to
forget that chivalrous manner of his, bewitcher of the veriest stranger.
He would, find his tall hat, search out his staunch umbrella, and convoy
the visitor forth, when the hour of parting had arrived. Nothing less
would suffice him, and as to his company, it was a delight for ever.
Another veteran might have been lonely with a younger generation knocking
at the door, indeed in full possession. He was not; he strode in the van
with the youngest.
Yet he felt, perhaps, the void time had wrought in the circle of his
friends. He held the fort silently, while the long scythe cut another
swathe very near him. He heard that his friend, James Anthony Froude, who
had been lying ill in Devonshire, was steadily losing strength.
'I have made inquiries about him, poor fellow,' he murmured, 'but now I
must telegraph for the latest particulars. He and I are old companions,
and I have liking and admiration for him. When he visited me at my island
of Kawau, off the New Zealand coast, we had a capital while together.
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