Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. Then a roar of hisses. 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. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. I am—’ ‘Like me, entirely English. Goopes down on him with the lesson Titian teaches so beautifully in his “Sacred and Profane Love,” and became quite eloquent upon the impossibility of any deception in the former.
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