She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. He remembered it suddenly. They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now. 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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