Marty had chosen between herself and this girl.

Without giving her a real chance to put things right he had slipped away silently and taken Tootles with him.

Not she, but the girl with the red lips and the pale face and the hair that came out of a bottle had stripped Marty of his armor, and the truth of it was that Marty, yes, even Marty, was not really a knight but a very ordinary man.
Out of the orchard and the garden she went, once she had arrived at this stage, and tramped the countryside with her ears tuned to catch the alluring strains of the mechanical music of the Round-about.

She had not only been making a fool of herself but had been made to look a fool, she thought.

Her pain and suffering and disillusion had been wasted.