When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. “To-night we are as we have always been. Why don’t I just go and get the key from Pottiswick?’ Alderley flicked a glance back at him over his shoulder. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. . The other lay unconscious in a heap. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night.
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