Perforce she must pace on beside her ladyship.
Lord Rotherby came by, arm in arm with his friend, the Duke of Wharton.
It was a one-sided friendship.

Lord Rotherby was but one of the many of his type who furnished a court, a valetaille, to the gay, dissolute, handsome, witty duke, who might have been great had he not preferred his vices to his worthier parts.
As they went by, Lord Rotherby bared his head and bowed, as did his companion.

Her ladyship smiled upon him, but Hortensia's eyes looked rigidly ahead, her face a stone.

She heard his grace's insolent laugh as they passed on; she heard his voice--nowise subdued, for he was a man who loved to let the world hear what he might have to say.
"Gad! Rotherby, the wind has changed! Your Dulcinea flies with you o' Wednesday, and has ne'er a glance for you o' Saturday! I' faith! ye deserve no better.

Art a clumsy gallant to have been overtaken, and the maid's in the right on't to resent your clumsiness." Rotherby's reply was lost in a splutter of laughter from a group of sycophants who had overheard his grace's criticism and were but too ready to laugh at aught his grace might deign to utter.