Unfortunately the beard looked as though it was glued on- which, of course, it was.
In later life Trollope enjoyed a romantic friendship with a young American feminist called Kate Field. He'd been a terrible old reactionary, but now his fictional world was infiltrated by bright young American girls who get to kick the anti-masassars about. I haven't read any Trollope since I was a teenager. I found him stolid- the literary equivalent of Sunday lunch in a traditional English hotel- overcooked beef in Bisto gravy with Yorkshire pudding and watery veg- but maybe I was reading the wrong books. He wrote 40 in all- and the ones I was getting stuck into were the famous early ones, all about archdeacons and stuff; Field hadn't yet swum into view. Maybe I should get hold of one of the later ones and give him another try.