" "Company!" echoed Rachel; "at this time of night?" "Company, child," repeated Kneebone. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. He's a nice boy, a good student. 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. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping.
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