"No, I tell you," rejoined Jonathan, shouldering his way out of the crowd. ‘Oh, my God, she’s gone!’ Wrenching his hand from his friend’s slackened grasp, he darted for the door, Roding behind him. Kneebone and Mr. ‘That’s why I’m asking. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. But at the word “home” she turned again. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. 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. He took his seat at the table, but leaned forward to address her.
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