Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. 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. Besides, she will do no such thing. “Are you free tomorrow? Should I call?” He asked. Brendon. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils.
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