Lady Sellingworth got up to receive him. As she did so he was almost
startled by her height.

She was astonishingly tall, probably well over six feet, very slim, thin
even, with a small head covered with rather wavy white hair and set on a
long neck, sloping shoulders, long, aristocratic hands on which she wore
loose white gloves, narrow, delicate feet, very fine wrists and ankles.
Her head reminded Craven of the head of a deer. As for her face, once
marvellously beautiful according to the report of competent judges who
had seen all the beauties of their day, it was now quite frankly a ruin,
lined, fallen in here and there, haggard, drawn. Nevertheless, looking
upon it, one could guess that once upon a time it must have been a
face with a mobile, almost imperial, outline, perhaps almost insolently
striking, the arrogant countenance of a conqueror. When gazing at it one
gazed at the ruin, not of a cottage or of a gimcrack villa, but at the
ruins of a palace. Lady Sellingworth's eyes were very dark and still
magnificent, like two brilliant lamps in her head. A keen intelligence
gazed out of them. There was often something half sad, half mocking in
their expression. But Craven thought that they mocked at herself rather
than at others. She was very plainly dressed in black, and her dress was
very high at the neck. She wore no ornaments except a wedding ring, and
two sapphires in her ears, which were tiny and beautiful.

Her greeting to Craven was very kind. He noticed at once that her
manner was as natural almost as a frank, manly schoolboy's, carelessly,
strikingly natural. There could never, he thought, have been a grain
of affectation in her. The idea even came into his head that she was
as natural as a tramp. Nevertheless the stamp of the great lady was
imprinted all over her. She had a voice that was low, very sensitive and
husky.