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. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor.
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