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. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. It is my business to know most people. I wasn’t. "Jack," said Wild, with a glance of malignant triumph, "I will now tell you what I have done. I should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. ‘All right, Trodger. He returned the locket without comment.
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