” She had a moment of sheer panic at the thing she had done. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. It must be the dawn creeping in. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly. I wish I could get you to imitate Thames Darrell. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. 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.
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