Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. 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. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement.
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