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"She calls it 'The Hags' Hop'! Isn't it delicious of her? It will be all over London to-morrow. The name will stick. In the annuals of London festivities to-night will always be remembered as the night of the famous Hags' Hop." Lady Sellingworth heard Rocheouart's strong, manly young laugh. "That's just like the duchess!" he said. "She's simply made of humour and always hits the nail on the head.
Although she was still, as she supposed, madly in love with him, she concealed it, or, if she showed it, did so only by being rather unnaturally cold with him. When he was gone she felt desperate. Her imp had perhaps controlled her during the short time of Rocheouart's final visit, had mocked and made her fear him. When she was alone, however, he vanished for the moment.
But that night Lady Sellingworth almost hated her. The Hags' Hop! That terrible name stuck in Lady Sellingworth's mind and seemed to fasten there like a wound in a body. As Rocheouart's partner had foretold, the name went all over London. The duchess's mot even got into a picture paper, and everyone laughed about it. The duchess was delighted. Nobody seemed to mind.
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