By her fire she sat, an attracting presence, though only fine, strong lines remained of beauty ravaged by illness and years. The “polished forehead” was furrowed by the chisel of suffering; the delicate high nose springing from her waxen, sunken face seemed somewhat eaglelike, but the face was still brilliant in its intensity of meaning and the carriage of her head was still noble. Not able to walk except with the assistance of a cane, her once exquisite hands stiffened almost to uselessness, she held her court from her throne of mere power and strong charm. On the afternoons when people “ran in to warm themselves” by her fire, the talk was never dull and was often wonderful. There were those who came quietly into the room fresh from important scenes where subjects of weight to nations were being argued closely—perhaps almost fiercely. Sometimes the argument was continued over cups of perfect tea near the chair of the Duchess, and, howsoever far it led, she was able brilliantly to follow. With the aid of books and pamphlets and magazines, and the strong young man with the nice voice, who was her reader, she kept pace with each step of the march of the world. It was, however, the modern note in her recollections of her world’s march in days long past, in which Coombe found mental food and fine flavour. The phrase, “in these days” expressed in her utterance neither disparagement nor regret. She who sat in state in a drawing-room lighted by wax candles did so as an affair of personal preference, and denied no claim of higher brilliance to electric illumination. Driving slowly through Hyde Park on sunny days when she was able to go out, her high-swung barouche hinted at no lofty disdain of petrol and motor power. At the close of her youth’s century, she looked forward with thrilled curiosity to the dawning wonders of the next. “If the past had not held so much, one might not have learned to expect more,” was her summing up on a certain afternoon, when he came to report himself after one of his absences from England. “The most important discovery of the last fifty years has been the revelation that no man may any longer assume to speak the last word on any subject. The next man—almost any next man—may evolve more. Before that period all elderly persons were final in their dictum. They said to each other—and particularly to the young—‘It has not been done in my time—it was not done in my grandfather’s time. It has never been done. It never can be done’.” “The note of today is ‘Since it has never been done, it will surely be done soon’,” said Coombe.