Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. 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 heard the sounds of Rhea scuttling about, and then feeding, brutally. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye.
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