Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. Ray did not pace, he just stood. ” “Upon my word,” he declared, “you are right. . "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. 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.
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