All that picture of herself, stooping from place and power, to bind up the wounds of the people, in which she had once delighted, was to her now a mere flimsy vulgarity.
She had been shown other ideals--other ways--and her pulses were still swaying under the audacity--the virile inventive force of the showman.
Everything she had once desired looked flat to her; everything she was not to have, glowed and shone.

Poverty, adventure, passion, the joys of self-realisation--these she gave up.

She would become Lady Maxwell, make friends with Miss Raeburn, and wear the family diamonds! Then, in the midst of her rage with herself and fate, she drew herself away, looked up, and caught full the eyes of Aldous Raeburn.

Conscience stung and burned.

What was this life she had dared to trifle with--this man she had dared to treat as a mere pawn in her own game?
She gave way utterly, appalled at her own misdoing, and behaved like a penitent child.