"It is said by those who know that we are all mad--at some time and at some point.

I have, I think, reason to be mad to-night." And with that she crashed a final chord, rose from her seat, and crossed the room.
"I hope, Uncle Francis, your guests will excuse me," she said, with an imperial, aloof politeness, "but I am very tired.

I will wish you all a good-night." She bowed to them as they expressed their regrets, and then slowly left the room.
"Goodnight, madame," Lord Tancred said, at the door.

"Some day you and I will cross swords." But he was rewarded by no word, only an annihilating glance from her sullen eyes, and he stood there and gazed at her as she passed up the stairs.
"An extraordinary and beautiful woman--your niece--eh, my dear Markrute ?" he heard one of the pompous gentlemen say, as he returned to the group by the fire, and it angered him--he could not have told why.
Francis Markrute, who knew his moments, began now to talk about her, casually; how she was an interesting, mysterious character; beautiful?
well, no, not exactly that--a superlative skin, fine eyes and hair, but no special features.
"I will not admit that she is beautiful, my friend," he said.

"Beauty suggests gentleness and tenderness.