Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. "As I could wish!" cried Jonathan. “I am not dependent upon any one. Here's a nosegay for you, my love," she continued, opening her basket, and presenting a fragrant bunch of flowers to Winifred, "if your mother will allow me to give it 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. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour.
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