From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 125)

I never met Lily Elise (that being her stage name, she was born Elise Hodder). She was, and remains, a most beautiful and talented actress. I have been privileged to see her perform on stage on multiple occasions. I suspect…well actually I know…that I could have talked my way backstage to steal a personal meeting, and I did consider it on many occasions, but I never ever did. In some ways I thought of her as I think of the sovereign, as an ideal, a concept to be upheld and venerated. If I had met such an icon of beauty and femininity in person and she had, say, sneezed, it would have reminded me that she was but mortal and human just like the rest of us, and prone to all the biological necessities that come with it. On the stage, as the sovereign is upon the throne, she was far above such matters. Angelic, and a lady to whom I could offer my most unsullied of devotions.

Perhaps I should have attempted to befriend her, for in my opinion, she undertook a bad marriage. She was unhappy and he was a most possessive boor. Eventually they parted, but it was later on in her years and the damage had already been done. The girl, who had once been temporally fired for giggling too much on stage, had become a very different and far more sombre woman.

Elise became one of the most photographed women of the Edwardian age, when such media was only just beginning to be appreciated by the general masses. I have a small collection of images of her myself.

Despite once being described as having the most kissable mouth in England, I do not think it was her beauty that enraptured so many men and inspired so many of her own sex. She had an abundance of charm, and charm is something that does not fade with age. Indeed, it is a rare quality among both men and women (of course, I have it aplenty, when I choose to employ it). The essence of charm is to make others feel at ease and to feel valued in your company. It is a strange, sparkling form of humility at its best (this doubtless being the reason I only employ it on occasion, for I am not humble by nature).

I saw her when she was still a chorus girl at Daly’s Theatre, and in even among the line-up of what was nothing less than a bevy of beauties, I saw then that she was something out of the ordinary.

Mind you, I rather wish she hadn’t been quite so successful in introducing the fashion of plumed hats to society, even to the point of motivating Celeste to purchase one. Both ladies suited them, that fact is incontrovertible, but the hats gathered dust at a ridiculous pace and if caught in a shower, turned any lady into the very image of a wet hen - including the temperament. Indeed, the description ‘mad as a wet hen’ has never been quite so apt.