A
very shabby trick--very shabby indeed.' Of course I do not vouch for
the exact words in which Watts-Dunton told me this tale; but this was
exactly the tale he told me. I expressed my astonishment. He added
that of course he `never wanted to see the fellow again after that,
and never did.' But presently, after a long gaze into the coals, he
emitted a chuckle, as for earlier memories of `such a funny fellow.'
One quite recent memory he had, too. `When I took on the name of
Dunton, I had a note from him. Just this, with his butterfly
signature: Theodore! What's Dunton? That was very good--very good....
But, of course,' he added gravely, `I took no notice.' And no doubt,
quite apart from the difficulty of finding an answer in the same vein,
he did well in not replying. Loyalty to Swinburne forbade. But I see a
certain pathos in the unanswered message. It was a message from the
hand of an old jester, but also, I think, from the heart of an old
man--a signal waved jauntily, but in truth wistfully, across the gulf
of years and estrangement; and one could wish it had not been ignored.
Some time after Whistler died I wrote for one of the magazines an
appreciation of his curious skill in the art of writing. Watts-Dunton
told me he had heard of this from Swinburne. `I myself,' he said,
`very seldom read the magazines.
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