" "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. Ann Veronica halted a pace, and Miss Klegg came alongside. She danced with two others. 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. That bruise will answer the same purpose. “No, I’m not a virgin. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him.
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