She was no coquette, no flirt, yet she knew she had but to smile on a man to bring him at once to her feet; she had but to make the most trifling advance, and she could do what she would.

The Duke of Mornton had twice repeated his offer of marriage--she had refused him.
The Marquis of Langland, the great match of the day, had made her an offer, which she had declined.

The Italian Prince Cetti would have given his possessions to take her back with him to his own sunny land, but she had refused to go.

No woman in England had had better offers of marriage; but she had refused them all.

How was it that, when others sighed so deeply and vainly at her feet, Lord Arleigh alone stood aloof?
Of what use were her beauty, wit, grace, wealth, and talent, if she could not win him?
For the first time she became solicitous about her beauty, comparing it with that of other women, always being compelled, in the end, to own that she excelled.