” Lucy observed, watching her friend. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. 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. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. Who are you going with?\" \"Nobody. “I came directly I was disengaged,” Anna answered. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. “Well, anyhow, consider it open. . It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands.
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