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. ‘Because she, naturally enough, does not consider that it is in any way my affair. “What did it matter?” she cried. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. The country was partitioned in a similar manner. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. It was a reputation by no means deserved. ” “I don’t care how we meet,” she said. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Kneebone, he took his departure. "Good night. But, in the midst of all her affliction, she has found a steady friend in Mr. Spurling.
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