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Updated: May 2, 2025
Yet there was certainly a strong, unspoken link between them, this man and woman who had so little in common the one with the other. They met often, if only because they both lived in Marylebone, that most conventional quarter of old Georgian London, she in Wimpole Street, he in a flat in Wigmore Street. She always was glad to see him, and seemed a little sorry when he left her.
And if as I don't believe for a moment Why, in that case I heard the other day of a most excellent man Grosser, of Wimpole Street; nerves. He would be absorbed. He'll bottle you in spirit, Lawford. We'll have him down quietly. You see? But there won't be any necessity. Oh no. By then light will have come. We shall remember. What I mean is this. He crossed his legs and pushed out his lips.
"You know you're not to think of going to the country to-night," Henrietta remarked to her. "It doesn't matter whether there's a train or not. You're to come straight to me in Wimpole Street. There isn't a corner to be had in London, but I've got you one all the same. It isn't a Roman palace, but it will do for a night." "I'll do whatever you wish," Isabel said.
From the front there was nothing to be learned, and in the hope that the rear might furnish some clew, Ford hastened to Wimpole Street, in which the houses to the east backed upon those to the west in Sowell Street. But neither from this view-point did he gather any fact of interest.
I have cast Miss Maddox for it in my mind, but, of course, if the author insists " Marion, with her elbows on the table, clasped her hands appealingly before her. "Oh, Mr. Wimpole!" she cried, "you owe me that, at least." Carroll leaned over and took both of Marion's hands in one of his. "It's all right," he said; "the author insists."
"Your hair!" stammered Wimpole, losing all her small wit "your beauteous hair! A lock is gone, madam!" Clorinda started to her feet, and flung the great black mass over her white shoulder, that she might see it in the glass. "Gone!" she cried. "Where? How? What mean you? Ah-h!" Her voice rose to a sound that was well-nigh a scream.
Or again, Mr Wimpole may leave first, feeling that his last epigram is a thing to be flung behind him like a firework. And Sir Walter may remain some time to analyse Mr Wimpole's character. But they will both have to leave within reasonable time, for they will both have to get dressed and come back to dinner here tonight."
If anything pleasant or amusing was on hand, such as a dance or our 'private theatricals, he would wave his hands and say, 'Clear the decks! Clear the decks! We often used to 'clear the decks' for games of Post and Magical Music!... Evenings at Wimpole were never dull. We attempted to keep up old traditions, and intellect and vitality were not wanting.
In 1740 he was obliged to sell his estate of Wimpole, in order to clear off a debt of 100,000 pounds, a sacrifice which failed to appease his creditors, and a prey to carking care, he found the downward path from conviviality to inebriety a rapid one. It was during the lifetime of the second Lord Oxford that the Rev. Thomas Baker bequeathed his works in manuscript to the Harleian library.
Miss Barrett, never quite recovered from a riding accident in early girlhood, and stricken down for long in both soul and body by the shock of her brother's death by drowning, lay from day to day and month to month, in an upper room of her father's house in Wimpole Street, occupied, upon her sofa, with her books and papers her Greek dramatists and her Elizabethan poets shut out from the world, with windows for ever closed, and with only an occasional female visitor, to gossip of the social and literary life of London.
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