All was tawdry, all was tarnished, all was unreal.

In looking back she saw that the festival of her life was an affair of tinselled splendour and glittering dust.

Was this only the impression of Vetch on her mood?
Did he possess some magic gift of personality which caused the artificial, the counterfeit, to wither in his presence?
Conversation was not animated; and while she listened with a smile to dreary anecdotes of the War Between the States, she allowed her gaze to wander slowly down the table to where Alice Rokeby sat, with her large soft eyes, so vague and wistful, asking of life, "Why have you passed me by ?" Now and then these eyes, which reminded Corinna of the eyes in a dream, would turn timidly to John Benham, and then there would steal into them that strange look of hunger, of desperation.

What did it mean?
Corinna wondered.

Surely there was no truth in the old gossip that she had heard long ago and forgotten?
John Benham had put a question to the Governor across the table; and he sat now, leaning a little forward, while he waited for an answer.