Morningside Park had been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it was still defective. . . She was, as Capes had said, a hard young woman. He saw three people: a young man at the piano, an elderly man smoking in a corner, and a young woman reclining in a chair, her eyes closed. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me.
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