‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. Fiercely defensive, as usual. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. His breath grew shallower as he approached the room, conscious of the loudness of his hallway-reverberated footfalls. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct.
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