The room was ugly.  She had long known that, but tonight the realization came to her that what she chiefly resented in it was the note it proclaimed—­the note of a mute acquiescence, without protest or struggle, in what life might send.  It reflected accurately the attitude of her parents, particularly of her father.  With an odd sense of detachment, of critical remoteness and contempt she glanced at him as he sat stupidly absorbed in his newspaper, his face puckered, his lips pursed, and Ditmar rose before her—­Ditmar, the embodiment of an indomitableness that refused to be beaten and crushed.  She thought of the story he had told her, how by self-assertion and persistence he had become agent of the Chippering Mill, how he had convinced Mr. Stephen Chippering of his ability.  She could not think of the mill as belonging to the Chipperings and the other stockholders, but to Ditmar, who had shaped it into an expression of himself, since it was his ideal.  And now it seemed that he had made it hers also.  She regretted having repulsed him, pushed her plate away from her, and rose.

“You haven’t eaten anything,” said Hannah, who had come into the room.  “Where are you going?”

“Out—­to Eda’s,” Janet answered....

“It’s late,” Hannah objected.  But Janet departed.  Instead of going to Eda’s she walked alone, seeking the quieter streets that her thoughts might flow undisturbed.  At ten o’clock, when she returned, the light was out in the diningroom, her sister had not come in, and she began slowly to undress, pausing every now and then to sit on the bed and dream; once she surprised herself gazing into the glass with a rapt expression that was almost a smile.  What was it about her that had attracted Ditmar?  No other man had ever noticed it.  She had never thought herself good looking, and now—­it was astonishing!—­she seemed to have changed, and she saw with pride that her arms and neck were shapely, that her dark hair fell down in a cascade over her white shoulders to her waist.  She caressed it; it was fine.  When she looked again, a radiancy seemed to envelop her.  She braided her hair slowly, in two long plaits, looking shyly in the mirror and always seeing that radiancy....

Suddenly it occurred to her with a shock that she was doing exactly what she had despised Lise for doing, and leaving the mirror she hurried her toilet, put out the light, and got into bed.  For a long time, however, she remained wakeful, turning first on one side and then on the other, trying to banish from her mind the episode that had excited her.  But always it came back again.  She saw Ditmar before her, virile, vital, electric with desire.  At last she fell asleep.

Gradually she was awakened by something penetrating her consciousness, something insistent, pervasive, unescapable, which in drowsiness she could not define.  The gas was burning, Lise had come in, and was moving peculiarly about the room.  Janet watched her.  She stood in front of the bureau, just as Janet herself had done, her hands at her throat.  At last she let them fall, her head turning slowly, as though drawn, by some irresistible, hypnotic power, and their eyes met.  Lise’s were filmed, like those of a dog whose head is being stroked, expressing a luxuriant dreaminess uncomprehending, passionate.