Maybe it’s his loss. For you say that you swim. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. 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. “What he had was altogether insufficient. Just sit down on that stool again and let’s talk of this in cold blood. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. Their future would be glorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of their young heads. He brought into service all his Oriental bar-room tricks. She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town.
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