“H’m!” he said, regarding the wreckage with a calmer visage. “This is much the cheapest place I know of where things are moderately clean, and I should hate rooms all by myself. Pistols and pictures? Now it fair goes agin’ me nature to act rough with a lady, but you’ll come along of me at once. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. 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. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. ‘Eh bien, pig.
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