The man grew white about the lips at these questions.
"Perhaps they forget—I—I suppose it seems more natural to address me by my name," he faltered.
"I do not like it—I will not submit to it a moment longer," Edith indignantly returned.
"Hush! it is almost over," said her companion, in a swift whisper, as others came forward just then, and she was obliged, though rebellious and heart-sick, to submit to the ordeal.
But it was over at last, for, as the introductions were made, the guests passed back to the carriage-house, which had been cleared for dancing, and where the musicians were discoursing alluring strains in rhythmic measure.
Even the bridesmaids and ushers, tempted by the sounds, at last deserted their posts, and Emil Correlli and his victim were finally left alone, the sole occupants of the drawing-room.
"Will you come and dance?" he inquired, as he turned a pleading look upon her. "Just once, to show that you forgive me for what I have done to-night."
"No, I cannot," said Edith, coldly and wearily. "I am going directly upstairs to divest myself of this mocking finery as soon as possible."
A swift, hot flush suffused Emil Correlli's face, at these words.
"Pray do not speak so bitterly and slightingly of what has made you, in my eyes at least, the most beautiful woman in this house to-night," he said, with a look of passionate yearning in his eyes.