She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. "Do you take me for a thiefcatcher, like Jonathan Wild, that you dare to affront me by such a proposal?" "No offence, Sir," rejoined the jailer, humbly. "You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt; "there he stands. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. 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. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. Sir John saw it, and was flattered.
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