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. ‘Do you think I do not know? What am I doing here, do you think?’ ‘That’s just exactly what I’ve been asking myself,’ he returned. I'll keep it for your sake. Unlocking it, he entered the chamber, which by no means belied its external appearance. You are my prisoner, murderer. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. And then you go—and half throttle me. ” She swept out of the room. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. .
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