‘Come on, Hilary. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. Niente. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. He returned, blue towel in hand. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. He will be here in a moment or so, and you will then learn his determination. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips.
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