That he is attractive to men of a high order may be seen from the
devotion of Mr. Philip Kerr; that he is able to find pleasure in a far
lower order of men may be seen from his closer friendships. It is
impossible to imagine Mr. Gladstone enjoying the society of Mr. Lloyd
George's most constant companion although that gentleman is a far better
creature than the cause of his fortunes; and one doubts if Lord
Beaconsfield would have trusted even the least frank of his private
negotiations to some of the men who enjoy the Prime Minister's political
confidence. Nor can Mr. Lloyd George retort that he makes use of all
kinds of energy to get his work done, for one knows very well that he is
far more at his ease with these third-rate people than with people of a
higher and more intellectual order. For culture he has not the very
least of predilections; and the passion of morality becomes more and
more one of the pious memories of his immaturity.

Dr. Clifford would be gladly, even beautifully, welcomed; but after an
hour an interruption by Sir William Sutherland would be a delightful
relief.

M. Clemenceau exclaimed of him, lifting up amazed hands, "I have never
met so ignorant a man as Lloyd George!" A greater wit said of him, "I
believe Mr. Lloyd George _can_ read, but I am perfectly certain he never
does."

I detect in him an increasing lethargy both of mind and body. His
passion for the platform, which was once more to him than anything else,
has almost gone. He enjoys well enough a fight when he is in it, but to
get him into a fight is not now so easy as his hangers-on would wish.
The great man is tired, and, after all, evolution is not to be hurried.
He loves his arm-chair, and he loves talking. Nothing pleases him for a