Reluctantly she found him beguiling after he had eaten. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck.
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