Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. “It’s all right,” he said, reassuringly to the inquirer without. 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. One doesn’t go about with these passions allayed simply because they have made wreckage and a scandal. "Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. " "It's all so big and aloof.
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