The novel begins with a fanfare of trumpets that, the author declares, women the world over are listening to, whether they answer or not. This overture announces a story about women stirred by a new force—or menace—as they confront love, religion, custom, and self-obliterating duty. The first chapter introduces Kate Barrington, a recent college graduate heading home, whose conversation with her friend Lena Vroom immediately establishes a contrast: Kate has a home and a future with a man like Ray McCrea, while Lena has only the university as a habit. The dialogue reveals Kate's domestic yearnings—she imagines cutting roses for Dresden vases—even as she chides Lena for a makeshift life. The excerpts trace Kate's journey through others' crises, particularly Honora's marital collapse, where a linen-closet becomes a symbol of lost hopes.

A Fanfare and a Farewell

The opening pages set a dual tone: a grand, almost manifesto-like preface about women listening to trumpets, followed by the intimate, colloquial exchange between Kate and Lena. The preface uses abstract, collective language—"they move in their sleep, or spring to action"—while the dialogue grounds the story in specific details: the Chicago campus in June, the garden shears, the Dresden vases. This juxtaposition suggests the novel will oscillate between broad social commentary and personal, domestic scenes. Kate's remark that her mother has been "deprived of my society" for four years hints at the tension between education and family duty. Lena's confession that she has "no home" and clings to college as a habit foreshadows the precariousness of women without traditional anchors. The reader should note how the preface's rhetoric colors the subsequent realism: the trumpets may be blowing, but Kate's immediate concerns are roses and reunion.

The Linen-Closet as Symbol

In a later excerpt, Honora, whose marriage has failed, mourns over her linen-closet: "See, I hemmed all these things with my own hands before I was married, and embroidered the initials!" This moment crystallizes the novel's critique of domestic idealism. Honora, once severe and masculine in her traits, becomes increasingly feminine—"more feminine every hour"—with a rhythm in her movements like Niobe or Hermione. Her transformation is ironic: she grows passionate and beautiful only after her husband's desertion. Kate muses that if David could see Honora now, his "'Blue-eyed One' would have seemed tepid." The narrator observes that Honora had renounced "the mistress qualities which the successful wife requires" and learned too late that love needs more than rigid sense. The linen-closet, a symbol of wifely preparation, becomes a monument to wasted effort. Readers should watch for how domestic objects accumulate meaning as the novel progresses.

Kate as Observer and Participant

Throughout the excerpts, Kate functions as both a witness and an actor. She watches Honora's decline with a mixture of compassion and critical insight, thinking "Too late! Too late!" as Honora clings to her children. Yet Kate also takes action: she moves into an attic room at the Caravansary, sells superfluous furniture, and keeps the more decorative pieces—a choice that reveals her own aesthetic leanings. After seeing Honora off, Kate is "alone at last" with time to think, suggesting that her own story is about to unfold. The narrative voice often aligns with Kate's perspective, as when she reflects that Honora's woe was "epic" and compares her to Marie Antoinette. This blend of sympathy and detachment positions Kate as a character who learns from others' mistakes. The reader should note how Kate's judgments—like her correction that Honora is not brave but "not foolish enough"—reveal her evolving philosophy.

The Caravansary and the Attic

The Caravansary, a boarding house where Kate stays, is described as having a "bleak, attic-like room" with a glimpse of the lake. This setting contrasts sharply with the domestic ideal of the home she left behind. The attic becomes a liminal space—temporary, sparse, yet offering a view outward. Kate camps there "amid the chaos" until Honora departs, and later she sells her accumulated furniture, keeping only the decorative items. The Caravansary's name suggests a way station, a place of transience, which mirrors Kate's uncertain future. The lake glimpsed from the window hints at openness and possibility, while the attic's bareness underscores her stripping away of excess. Readers should consider how physical spaces in the novel—the campus, the home, the Caravansary—reflect the characters' psychological states and the choices available to women in this era.

Peattie's novel rewards attention to its recurring motifs: the fanfare that opens the book, the linen-closet that closes a chapter, the attic that becomes a retreat. These concrete images anchor the abstract questions about women's roles. As you read, note how Kate's observations of others—Lena's rootlessness, Honora's tragedy—shape her own decisions. The excerpts leave her at a threshold, alone with her thoughts, which is precisely where the novel's inquiry begins to deepen.