ABSTRACT
G.V. McFadden My father judged it more fitting, on our arrival, to ask to see Mrs Hardy, sending in a card with the title of my first book added to the name.1 On Mrs Hardy’s appearance she asked at once if we wished to see her husband, and told us that he was writing – it was about 10 o’clock in the morning – and she did not know whether he would care to be disturbed. We were shown into the drawing room, when she inquired particularly whether we had anything to do with the press. Our disclaimer, and, perhaps, our homely garb – for we were having a sort of tramping holiday – must have reassured her. After warning us that we must not ask Mr Hardy for his autograph, Mrs Hardy left us, giving us the opportunity of a quick survey of the room. My father was specially interested to notice hanging on the walls the original sketches of Hubert Herkomer’s illustrations to Tess as it appeared serially in the Graphic, for the renowned artist was a friend of both my father and my mother, the former having worked side by side with him at the School of Art at Southampton, while the latter’s family had shared a house with old Lorenz Herkomer and his wife.2 While we waited, I remember, Wessex barked disapprovingly from the conservatory, but, as he did not come in to investigate, he was probably tied up, or behind a closed door.
