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. “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. Even he was not oblivious to it, and after about two minutes of awkward French kissing, he pulled away. Tell me, what are these bananas and nuts for?” “Dessert. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. ‘Poor Hilary. She cried and sobbed in fits. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real.
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