If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. 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. ‘Unheard of, ain’t it? To tell the truth, I half expected him to leave everything to one of his doxies. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her.
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