‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. 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. “Wow, congratulations, Martin. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages.
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