Looking across the room, he saw that Walter Winter, seated beside Dora, was fanning himself.

He thought it disgusting and, for some reason which he did not pause to explore, exactly like Winter.

He had met Miss Milburn once or twice before without seeing her in any special way: here, at home, the centre of the little conventions that at once protected and revealed her, conventions bound up in the impressive figures of her mother and her aunt, she had a new interest, and all the attraction of that which is not easily come by.

It is also possible that although Lorne had met her before, she had not met him; she was meeting him now for the first time, as she sat directly opposite and talked very gracefully to Walter Winter.
Addressing Walter Winter, Lorne was the object of her pretty remarks.
While Mr Winter had her superficial attention, he was the bland medium which handed her on.

Her consciousness was fixed on young Mr Murchison, quite occupied with him: she could not imagine why they had not asked him long ago; he wasn't exactly "swell," but you could see he was somebody.