Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. 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. Sometimes we had the Illustrated London News and Tit-Bits.
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