Then Gosse spoke again, answering the question in her mind. ” “They were my posters,” Annabel said. I do not command the services of a person who will not tell me why he offers them. 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. I’m taking no chances. There was a young lad ahead of her. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother.
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