But where in the world was the girl? A door led to another chamber beyond. 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. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. Meantime, a change had taken place in the weather. Suffer me to precede you. He laughed reassuringly. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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