She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. ’ ‘It was so,’ said Valade, becoming a trifle more fluent. Did you make all of these planes?” She asked. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. 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. This was the reason he had raised his little independent Company of Light Infantry and joined the West Kent Militia. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its miseries to-day. 7.
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