Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. He hated himself a little for it. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Hill again—alive. 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. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. Influenced, probably, by what he had heard from Mr. "His disguise was capital; but I detected it in a moment. F.
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