As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. . "Heard of your escapes. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. 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. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. " "Well," replied her son; "and you spurn the proposal.
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