He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. This too shall pass. Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup. Some one may observe us. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. 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. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure.
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