There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. Lucy could see the anger in her silhouette, the punishments and the grounding being formulated for the now dead daughter. I am going to smoke a little here, and then I shall go to the study. “I have not the least idea who he is. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. You MUST not, you SHALL not go. 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. She fell into another slumber, one which was more like a blackout. Not if I read her aright.
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