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. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. He was in the house with his mother.
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