"You have made yourself queen of it. I imagine you will carry the first prize."
"I don't know that. I have great rivals. Did you not observe how well Miss Arrowpoint shot?"
(Pause, wherein Gwendolen was thinking that men had been known to choose some one else than the woman they most admired, and recalled several experiences of that kind in novels.)
"Miss Arrowpoint? No—that is, yes."
"Shall we go now and hear what the scoring says? Every one is going to the other end now—shall we join them? I think my uncle is looking towards me. He perhaps wants me."
Gwendolen found a relief for herself by thus changing the situation: not that the tête-à-tête was quite disagreeable to her; but while it lasted she apparently could not get rid of the unwonted flush in her cheeks and the sense of surprise which made her feel less mistress of herself than usual. And this Mr Grandcourt, who seemed to feel his own importance more than he did hers—a sort of unreasonableness few of us can tolerate—must not take for granted that he was of great moment to her, or that because others speculated on him as a desirable match she held herself altogether at his beck. How Grand-
