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 got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. I don’t see what you can have to say. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves. The challenge gave her courage. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated.
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