"I did suggest that I thought she would feel sorry now she had ever spoken to him."
"And what did she reply?"
"Oh, she just said, 'There are many things we feel sorry for when it is too late,' and walked out of the room."
"She never saw him after the police court affair, I think."
"I am sure she never did, father."
"So that this will pretty well complete the disillusionment."
"If she ever had any illusions."
"I am afraid she had, Beryl, I'm afraid she had. That was a most unfortunate adventure on the cliffs—most unfortunate," and Sir Charles turned again to the paper he had been reading.
Had the Tregonys been close observers they might have detected a forced and an unnatural note in Madeline's gaiety. She was mirthful at times when there appeared to be no sufficient reason for her mirth, and cheerful when the conditions were most depressing.
When alone in her own room she generally paid the penalty. Frequently her spirits sank to zero. The desire to help Rufus Sterne was natural enough; but her helplessness drove her almost to despair. She could not even help herself. In a sense she was as much in the toils of circumstance as he was. She not only wondered what would become of him, but what would become of herself.