Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. 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. All right really. The man himself was not a pleasant object. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. She rang again with the same result. She wondered wildly why she had stood up.
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