The Duke of Ashwood was by her side, the _elite_ of the guests had gathered round her.

She--beautiful, bright, animated--was talking, as he could see, with her usual grace and ease.
It struck him suddenly as absurd that this beautiful woman should care--as people said she did care--for him.
Let him get it all over.

He longed to see the bright face shine on him with sisterly kindness, and to feel himself at ease with her; he longed to have all misunderstanding done away with.
He went up to the little group, and again the same peculiarity struck him--they all made way for him--even the Duke of Ashwood, although he did it with a frown on his face and an angry look in his eyes.

Each one seemed to consider that he had some special right to be by the side of the beautiful Miss L'Estrange; and she, as usual when he was present, saw and heard no one else.
It was high time the world was disabused.

Did she herself join in the popular belief?
He could not tell.