They trudged and talked, and Manning struggled, as he said, to “get the hang of it all. There you will be, in an inner temple. Superimposed was the agitating thought of what would follow the death of this unwelcome guest: confusion, poking authorities, British and American red tape. "All's over," muttered Jonathan. 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. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. And then all her restlessness was turned to joy.
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