The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. Meysey Hill—never your wife. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. Spurlock had seen Rollo heading for the jungle, and for some reason he could not explain the incident had bothered him. 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. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud.
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