‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. I call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person. 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. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. But in this posture he fared worse than ever.
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