“Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. She could not help thinking of Capes. But nobody drinks on my island unless I offer it, which is seldom. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. 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 shadowy eyes revealed two things: that he was oversensitive in his extreme intelligence and that he suffered an acute insomnia.
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