The one portrait that was painted of Iris is only recognisable by partial friends of the artist.
In and out of London, photographic likenesses were taken of her.

They have the honour of resembling the portraits of Shakespeare in this respect--compared with one another, it is not possible to discover that they present the same person.

As for the evidence offered by the loving memory of her friends, it is sure to be contradictory in the last degree.

She had a charming face, a commonplace face, an intelligent face--a poor complexion, a delicate complexion, no complexion at all--eyes that were expressive of a hot temper, of a bright intellect, of a firm character, of an affectionate disposition, of a truthful nature, of hysterical sensibility, of inveterate obstinacy--a figure too short; no, just the right height; no, neither one thing nor the other; elegant, if you like--dress shabby: oh, surely not; dress quiet and simple; no, something more than that; ostentatiously quiet, theatrically simple, worn with the object of looking unlike other people.

In one last word, was this mass of contradictions generally popular, in the time when it was a living creature?
Yes--among the men.
No--not invariably.