‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various scientific quarterlies for his research papers. 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. What was to happen now? She turned to Roding quickly. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. But I can easily bring in a sing-song girl to play for you. . Amid this varied throng,—varied in appearance, but alike in character,—one object alone, we have said, rivetted Mrs.
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