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. Even were she to get an opportunity to scream, it would be some time before such a call, unprecedented though it might be, brought the nuns so much out of their absorption that they interrupted their prayer to investigate. John’s demeanor shifted. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. "I am twenty," said the girl. What I said about your brat was all stuff. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention. Perhaps in two or three weeks. Ice had begun to form in the shallows.
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