In 1887, her great social popularity had not begun. She was, I now
know, already near sixty, but it never occurred to me to consider
her age. She possessed a curious static quality, a perennial
youthfulness. Every one must have observed how like Watts' picture
of her at twenty she still was at eighty-six. This was not
preserved by any arts or fictile graces. She rather affected,
prematurely, the dress and appearance of an elderly woman. I
remember her as always the same, very small and neat, very pretty
with her chiselled nose, the fair oval of her features, the
slightly ironic, slightly meditative smile, the fascinating colour
of the steady eyes, beautifully set in the head, with the eyebrows
rather lifted as in a perpetual amusement of curiosity. Her head,
slightly sunken into the shoulders, was often poised a little
sideways, like a bird's that contemplates a hemp-seed. She had no
quick movements, no gestures; she held herself very still. It
always appeared to me that, in face of her indomitable energy and
love of observation, this was an unconscious economy of force. It
gave her a very peculiar aspect; I remember once frivolously saying
to her that she looked as though she were going to "pounce" at me;
but she never pounced. When she had to move, she rose energetically
and moved with determination, but she never wasted a movement. Her
physical strength--and she such a tiny creature--seemed to be
wonderful. She was seldom unwell, although, like most very healthy
people, she bewailed herself with exaggerated lamentations whenever
anything was the matter with her. But even on these occasions she
defied what she called "coddling." Once I found her suffering from
a cold, on a very chilly day, without a fire, and I expostulated.
She replied, with a sort of incongruity very characteristic of her,
"Oh! none of your hot bottles for me!" In her last hours of