She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. I am sure he would go with you. She was too late. 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. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know. So she built a shrine. “I shall come back, if at all, a new man. ” “Certainly,” Mrs.
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