155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. Thought she was a nun at first. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. ’ ‘Very good, ma’am. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. 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 was asked to meet him after his game Saturday afternoon.
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