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. “Let me know the truth. It isn’t all. “There is no time for that. Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. . To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. There was so much to see, so much to do, that he became what he had once been normally, a lovable boy. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. I’ve made no one happy.
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