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” “Men,” said Miss Miniver, “NEVER have a reason. Somehow or other his reputation as a hardened and unassailable bachelor had won for him during the last few years a comparative immunity from attentions on the part of those women with whom he had been brought into contact. They were drenched with water and suds. “You permitted me then to call you my friend. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. Not alone with her, that’s sure. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. ” “He mentioned the matter to me also,” Miss Pellissier remarked stiffly. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. My opportunities have been immense, and my failure utter. ” “Why not?” “You see, if I do go home my father objects to the College, and as for typing —” “Don’t go home. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion.
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