She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. 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 glance sufficed to show the young man how matters stood. His eyes closed. Looking for something, or someone, probably. ‘You and Jarvis Remenham both, yes. There happened that year to be an unusual proportion of girls and women in the advanced laboratory, perhaps because the class as a whole was an exceptionally small one. “It’s very good,” she said.
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