For I still love her mother. . I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. 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. ‘It is all too probable that she would wish to change into lay clothing to escape recognition. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. You see to what it has brought you. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. ’ Melusine edged a little away from the portrait. The pistol fell to the floor. “This is all rot!” he declared angrily. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. Good riddance.
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