There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own. “You were booked of course. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. And Mother trusted him. ” Anna laughed, and went back to her easy chair. “But I am judge of that,” said Manning. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. 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. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so.
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