“Do you need me to remind you that your patient is bleeding to death?” He dropped on his knees by the man’s side and made a hurried examination. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. “In self-defence I had to,” she answered. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. 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. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully.
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