Her voice recalled him. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. I want to give myself to you. He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. Charvill does not believe the general will accept them. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. ’ A derisive snort greeted this passage. 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 the teachers were getting restless, the seniors gnawing hard at the bit as graduation teased. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "Arrest!" "Jigger closed!" shouted a hoarse voice in reply.
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