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. " "No, Sir Rowland. He drew a little breath of relief. Teddy overtook her, a little out of breath, his innocent face flushed, his straw-colored hair disordered. This done, she waited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of her nearness. So she built a shrine. They were terrible, horrible people. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs.
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