A brother cannot be an impartial judge of his sister's personal
appearance, but I have always understood that my seven sisters were
regarded by most people as ranking only second to the peerless
Moncrieffe sisters as regards beauty. Certainly I thought this
particular sister, the late Lady Winterton, surpassed the others in
outward appearance, for she had beautiful and very refined features,
and the most exquisite skin and complexion. I thought her a most
lovely apparition when covered with my mother's jewels.

In those days (how far off they seem!) one of the great events of the
Dublin Season was the Gala-night at the theatre, or "Command Night" as
it was called, when all the men wore uniform or Court dress, and the
ladies their very best clothes. When the Lord and Lady Lieutenant
entered the State box, attended by the various members of their
Household, the audience stood up, the band playing "God Save the
Queen!" (yes, that was in Dublin in 1875!), and the Viceregal pair
then bowed their acknowledgments to the house from their box.

On the "Command Night" in 1875 my sister took my mother's place, and,
as I have already said, diamonds were exceedingly becoming to her.
According to custom, she went to the front of the box, and made a low
sweeping curtsey to the audience. Ten days later she received a letter
from an unknown correspondent, together with a photograph of a portly
elderly man with large grey whiskers. He had been taken in an unusual
position, for he was making a low bow and holding his high hat at
arm's length from him. The writer explained that on the Command Night
my sister had bowed to him in the most marked way. So taken aback was
he, that he had not acknowledged it. He, therefore, to make amends,
had had himself photographed in an attitude of perpetual salutation.
Other letters rained in on my sister from the eccentric individual,