He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. She took his hand in hers. " The spinster had no retort to offer such directness. It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. ‘I’m on your side. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. She was never able to trace the changes her attitude had undergone, from the time when she believed herself to be the pampered Queen of Fortune, the crown of a good man’s love (and secretly, but nobly, worshipping some one else), to the time when she realized she was in fact just a mannequin for her lover’s imagination, and that he cared no more for the realities of her being, for the things she felt and desired, for the passions and dreams that might move her, than a child cares for the sawdust in its doll. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I’ve no name for it yet.
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