They then entered the room, which was perfectly dark. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. 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. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason.
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