Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. "The feeling is dead within my breast. It was necessary to think, and think quickly.
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