She leaned a little towards him. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble. 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 gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall.
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