This at least is certain, that not one of them in a thousand sees anything objectionable in the gloomy and hideous evening costume of a gentleman in the nineteenth century.
A handsome man is, to their eyes, more seductive than ever in the contemptible black coat and the stiff white cravat which he wears in common with the servant who waits on him at table.

After a stolen glance at Romayne, Stella lost all confidence in herself--she began turning over the photographs on the table.
The momentary silence which followed their first greeting became intolerable to her.

Rather than let it continue, she impulsively confessed the uppermost idea in her mind when she entered the room.
"I thought I heard my name when I came in," she said.

"Were you and Lord Loring speaking of me ?" Romayne owned without hesitation that they had been speaking of her.
She smiled and turned over another photograph.

But when did sun-pictures ever act as a restraint on a woman's curiosity?
The words passed her lips in spite of her.