“David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. It was now evident that he had not been normal that first day. Then fury claimed her and she could no longer pretend. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. 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. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag.
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