After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. 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. ” 240 “Then I’ll wait for you. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind.
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