Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. 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. “Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. The hurricane appeared to have raged in this quarter with tenfold fury. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. "Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request. .
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