‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. 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. Gladstone would have to a carelessly displayed interior on a dissecting-room table. Mr. It forbids—all sorts of things. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle.
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