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. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. " "You at least appear to forget that Mr. I should like to have had you forgive me. ” Anna nodded, and Mr. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will. This door, which was open, Jonathan locked and took out the key.
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