"Oh, 'Sbud!" he bleated.

"Let me die! The audaciousness of the creature! And behold me the port and glance of her! Cold as a vestal, let me perish!" Lady Mary turned with the others to look in the direction he was pointing--pointing openly, with no thought of dissembling.
Mr.Caryll's eyes fell upon Mistress Winthrop, and his glance was oddly perceptive.

He observed those matters of which Mr.Craske had seemed to make sardonic comment: the erect stiffness of her carriage, the eyes that looked neither to right nor left, and the pallor of her face.
He observed, too, the complacent air with which her ladyship advanced beside her husband's ward, her fan moving languidly, her head nodding to her acquaintance, as in supreme unconcern of the stir her coming had effected.
Mr.Caryll had been dull indeed, knowing what he knew, had he not understood to the full the humiliation to which Mistress Hortensia was being of purpose set submitted.
And just then Rotherby, who had turned, with Wharton and another now, came by them again.

This time he halted, and his companions with him, for just a moment, to address his mother.

She turned; there was an exchange of greetings, in which Mistress Hortensia standing rigid as stone--took no part.