A queer sense of ostracism possessed him.

Perhaps, after all, it had been a dream from which he was now slowly awaking.
He wandered into the lounge to find Elizabeth surrounded by a little group of journalists.

She nodded to him pleasantly and waved a great bunch of long-stemmed pink roses which one of them had brought to her.
Her greeting saved him from despair.

She, at least, was unchanged.
"See how my friends are beginning to spoil me!" she cried out.

"Really, I can't tell any of you a thing more," she went on, turning back to them, "only this, and I am sure it ought to be interesting.