Leastways, she’d be your greataunt, wouldn’t she?’ Astounded, Melusine was just about to demand further information, when a commotion outside the room interrupted her. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance. Yes, there was someone there. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. 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.
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