The “attractively informal girl,” on whom young Shotwell was condescending to bestow a passing regret while changing his linen, had, however, quite forgotten him by this time. There is more philosophy in women.
Her train was now nearing Shadow Hill; she already could see the village in its early winter nakedness––the stone bridge, the old-time houses of the well-to-do, Main Street full of automobiles and farmers’ wagons, a crowded trolley-car starting for Deepdale, the county seat.
After four years the crudity of it all astonished her––the stark vulgarity of Main Street in the sunshine, every mean, flimsy architectural detail revealed––the dingy trolley poles, the telegraph poles loaded with unlovely wires and battered little electric light fixtures––the uncompromising, unrelieved ugliness of street and people, of shop and vehicle, of treeless sidewalks, brick pavement, car rails, hydrants, and rusty gasoline pumps.
Here was a people ignorant of civic pride, knowing no necessity for beauty, having no standards, no aspirations, conscious of nothing but the grosser material needs.
The hopelessness of this American town––and there were thousands like it––its architectural squalor, its animal unconsciousness, shocked her after four years 39 in lands where colour, symmetry and good taste are indigenous and beauty as necessary as bread.
And the girl had been born here, too; had known no other home except when at boarding school or on shopping trips to New York.
Painfully depressed, she descended at the station, where she climbed into one of the familiar omnibuses and gave her luggage check to the lively young driver.
Several drummers also got in, and finally a farmer whom she recognised but who had evidently forgotten her.
The driver, a talkative young man whom she remembered as an obnoxious boy who delivered newspapers, came from the express office with her trunk, flung it on top of the bus, gossiped with several station idlers, then leisurely mounted his seat and gathered up the reins.
Rattling along the main street she became aware of changes––a brand new yellow brick clothing store––a dreadful Quick Lunch––a moving picture theatre––other monstrosities. And she saw familiar faces on the street.