Nobody
contested her claim. All her friends, on the contrary, declared that
she talked like a peeress and behaved like one; and in a world where
the few remaining authentic specimens of that class fail to fulfil
either the one or the other of these conditions, it was thought meet
and proper that somebody should be good enough to carry on, if only in
semblance, and if only in Nepenthe, the traditions of a race rapidly
approaching extinction. It was pleasant to be able to converse with a
Duchess at any hour of the day, and this one was nothing if not
accessible so long as you were fairly well clothed, had a reasonably
supply of small talk and did not profess violent anti-papal sentiments.
Some people said she dressed like a Duchess, but there was less
unanimity on this point. Her handsome oval face and towering grey hair
induced her to cultivate an antique pose, with a view to resembling "La
Pompadour." La Pompadour stood for something courtly and powdered. She
certainly dressed better and on far less money than Madame Steynlin,
whose plump figure, round sunburnt cheeks, and impulsive manner would
never have done for an old-world beauty, and who cared little what
frocks she wore, so long as somebody loved her.
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