" "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. I don’t believe in the faults. Frankly, it is the funniest thing which has ever happened to me in my life. There was something fatalistic about the letter H. Lad, I admire you even in your folly. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. Once before—but that had been different. 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.
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