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In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. ” She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut out the rhythm from her mind. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. My foster mother, Sheila, insists that I go to St. But I believe that Mr. ” She looked at him, pleading, miserable in her fancy gown. Some of your sex, I mean. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. Know that I love you, that I will always love you. 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. “Come,” he continued, “the world after all is a very small place. Annabel had been here then.
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