entered the
enclosure on foot, accompanied by Hortensia and followed at a respectful
distance by a footman. Her arrival proved something of a sensation. Hats
were swept off to her ladyship, sly glances flashed at her companion,
who went pale, but apparently serene, eyes looking straight before her;
and there was an obvious concealing of smiles at first, which later grew
to be all unconcealed, and, later still, became supplemented by remarks
that all might hear, remarks which did not escape--as they were meant
not to escape--her ladyship and Mistress Winthrop.

"Madam," murmured the girl, in her agony of shame, "we were not
well-advised to come. Will not your ladyship turn back?"

Her ladyship displayed a vinegary smile, and looked at her companion
over the top of her slowly moving fan. "Why? Is't not pleasant here?"
quoth she. "'Twill be more agreeable under the trees yonder. The sun
will not reach you there, child."

"'Tis not the sun I mind, madam," said Hortensia, but received no
answer. Perforce she must pace on beside her ladyship.

Lord Rotherby came by, arm in arm with his friend, the Duke of Wharton.
It was a one-sided friendship. Lord Rotherby was but one of the many
of his type who furnished a court, a valetaille, to the gay, dissolute,
handsome, witty duke, who might have been great had he not preferred his
vices to his worthier parts.

As they went by, Lord Rotherby bared his head and bowed, as did his
companion. Her ladyship smiled upon him, but Hortensia's eyes looked
rigidly ahead, her face a stone. She heard his grace's insolent laugh
as they passed on; she heard his voice--nowise subdued, for he was a man
who loved to let the world hear what he might have to say.

"Gad! Rotherby, the wind has changed! Your Dulcinea flies with you o'
Wednesday, and has ne'er a glance for you o' Saturday! I' faith! ye
deserve no better. Art a clumsy gallant to have been overtaken, and the
maid's in the right on't to resent your clumsiness."

Rotherby's reply was lost in a splutter of laughter from a group of
sycophants who had overheard his grace's criticism and were but too
ready to laugh at aught his grace might deign to utter. Her cheeks
burned; it was by an effort that she suppressed the tears that anger was
forcing to her eyes.

The duke, 'twas plain, had set the fashion. Emulators were not wanting.
Stray words she caught; by instinct was she conscious of the oglings,
the fluttering of fans from the women,