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. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. But the morning brought courage again, and those first intimations of horror vanished completely from her mind. “Anna!” she repeated. I have strength enough to drag myself there, and I do not want to return. “I feel shabby and disgraced. Do you know of what I speak?” “I do, I do!” She said. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls.
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