It must be gone through, but the prospect of undergoing it filled him with disgust.
A brougham passed him swiftly on noiseless wheels, and the woman in it caught a glimpse of the high-bred, clean-shaved face, half savage, half sullen, in the hansom.
"Anger, impatience, and remorse," she said to herself, and finished buttoning her gloves.
"Thank Heaven, not a soul has ever guessed it," repeated Hugh, fervently, as the hansom came suddenly to a stand-still.
In another moment he was taking Lady Newhaven's hand as she stood at the entrance of her amber drawing-room beside a grove of pink orchids.
He chatted a moment, greeted Lord Newhaven, and passed on into the crowded rooms.

How could any one have guessed it?
No breath of scandal had ever touched Lady Newhaven.

She stood beside her pink orchids, near her fatigued-looking, gentle-mannered husband, a very pretty woman in white satin and diamonds.

Perhaps her blond hair was a shade darker at the roots than in its waved coils; perhaps her blue eyes did not look quite in harmony with their blue-black lashes; but the whole effect had the delicate, conventional perfection of a cleverly touched-up chromo-lithograph.

Of course, tastes differ.