But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. “I am staying at the Savoy. Old Newgate. We begin rehearsing on Monday at the ‘Garrick’. . ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. Wood's at Dollis Hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return, or even of his existence. He never seemed to take full advantage while they were in his mammoth automobile. 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.
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