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. . ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. " "Have you told her?" "Told her? Told her what?" Spurlock sat straight in his chair. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. .
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