He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. Blueskin answered by dashing his head violently against the flagged floor. 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. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. Be honest, and you will be happy. ” He stood quite silent for a moment, his eyes fixed upon her face. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being.
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