Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. " "Not for worlds!" exclaimed both ladies together. 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. “Before you do anything else I should advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from the grate. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence.
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