” “Any place would be beautiful,” said Ann Veronica, in a low voice. The Wastrel did not relish this. ” “I couldn’t do that,” said Ann Veronica, sharply. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. . 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. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place.
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