It was bleeding again. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. Soon, they fattened up, their cheeks rosy and their hair shining. Afterwards we started for déjeuner in a motor. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. 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 can render no further service to your poor mother. Supposing I made up my mind to marry some one of good enough family, but who was in a somewhat doubtful position, concerning whose antecedents, in fact there was a certain amount of scandal.
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