She was not indeed
an old woman of caprices, but her tastes, not being those of the
later day in which she now lived, were regarded as a shade eccentric
being firmly defined.
"I will not have my house glaring with electricity as if it were
a shop. In my own rooms I will be lighted by wax candles. Large
ones--as many as you please," she said. "I will not be 'rung up'
by telephone. My servants may if they like. It is not my affair
to deprive them of the modern inconveniences, if they find them
convenient. My senility does not take the form of insisting that
the world shall cease to revolve upon its axis. It formed that
habit without my assistance, and it is to be feared that it would
continue it in the face of my protests."
It was, in fact, solely that portion of the world affecting herself
alone which she preferred to retain as it had been in the brilliant
early years of her life. She had been a great beauty and also
a wit in the Court over which Queen Victoria had reigned. She had
possessed the delicate high nose, the soft full eyes, the "polished
forehead," the sloping white shoulders from which scarves floated
or India shawls gracefully drooped in the Books of Beauty of the
day. Her carriage had been noble, her bloom perfect, and, when
she had driven through the streets "in attendance" on her Royal
Mistress, the populace had always chosen her as "the pick of
'em all".
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