‘Come, cry a truce. "Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. 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. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. But men are often blind to rings. “That is where I got confused,” he said. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband.
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