‘Cover her, men. My will never faltered. What will you give me to save you from your pursuers?" "Can you do so?" asked the other, doubtfully. The doctor and another man were by his bedside when they entered the room, and there were writing materials which had evidently been used close at hand. 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. Don't unman him. Later on—well then the time may come.
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