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Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. “I’d sooner condemn you to Hell. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. The thought had not even occurred to him. Wood—and after him came his daughter. He would know the truth then once and for all.
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