Stanley. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. "How long shall I be here?" he asked. She cried and sobbed in fits. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. " "Not now—not now!" she returned, with a shudder. "Nothing whatever," rejoined the thief-taker, coldly. 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. She had discussed the general question of supplies with the helpful landlady.
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