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, the flashing of quizzing-glasses from the men.

And everywhere was there a suppressed laugh, a stifled exclamation of surprise at her appearance in public--yet not so stifled but that it reached her, as it was intended that it should.
In the shadow of a great elm, around which there was a seat, a little group had gathered, of which the centre was the sometime toast of the town and queen of many Wells, the Lady Mary Deller, still beautiful and still unwed--as is so often the way of reigning toasts--but already past her pristine freshness, already leaning upon the support of art to maintain the endowments she had had from nature.

She was accounted witty by the witless, and by some others.
Of the group that paid its court to her and her companions--two giggling cousins in their first season were Mr.Caryll and his friends, Sir Harry Collis and Mr.Edward Stapleton, the former of whom--he was the lady's brother-in-law--had just presented him.

Mr.Caryll was dressed with even more than his ordinary magnificence.