So often her god had revealed the feet of clay just as she was preparing to scatter marigolds on his altar.

It appeared to her as she looked back on the past, that life had been merely a succession of great opportunities that one did not grasp, of high adventures that one never followed.
The sound of a motor horn interrupted her reverie, and she saw that a big open car, with a green body, had turned the corner and was about to stop at her door.

An instant later anger burned in her heart, for she saw that the car was driven by Rose Stribling.

Even a glimpse of that flaunting pink hollyhock of a woman was sufficient to ruffle the placid current of Corinna's thoughts.

Could she never forget?
Must she, who had long ago ceased to love the man, still be enslaved to resentment against the woman?
With an ample grace, Mrs.Stribling descended from the car, and crossed the pavement to the flagged walk which led to the white door of the old print shop.