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. She would ignore him. “I should really like to find somewhere to stay, if it was only for a few nights. “For my own part I have come fully now into my inheritance. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. Old pupil. They were exquisite. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word. " "Anything else, Sir?" "No:—stay! you'd better not bring up any silver forks or spoons. ” She looked at him with fluttering eyelids—sweetly grateful. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
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