” To remain, she felt, was to concede everything. The fellow Kimble, to whom Gerald was indebted, was gaping. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. Perhaps marriage hurt. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself. Two children, who had been caught in the jam-closet: ingratiating smiles, back of which lay doubt and fear. ” He looked at her pleadingly. 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.
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