Mr. She had come across the wicked South Seas which were still infested with cannibals; she had seen drunkenness and called men beachcombers; who was this moment as innocent as a babe, and in the next uttered some bitter wisdom it had taken a thousand years of philosophy to evolve. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. In all other respects they differed as materially. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. He thought rationally; that is to say, he thought clearly, as a child thinks clearly. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. Her unnatural calm was giving way. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship.
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