” She interrupted as Ann Veronica was about to speak again, with a bright contagious hopefulness. Spurling. This too shall pass. My father thought the latter. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. The wish was vain: and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed himself deeply and sincerely to prayer. It will be horribly dull, and she is a very trying person. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. Heaven forbid. It was—in connection with this man Hill. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. 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. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety.
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