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. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. The policeman raised his voice, slightly agitated. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old.
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