" "Blueskin, clear the room," cried the Master; "these gentlemen would be private. ” It was certain that he was not there. 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. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. She tried to think what she should do in this eventuality or that.
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