The name of this damsel was Edgeworth Bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. ” “And I also,” Brendon echoed. ” Lucy said, marveling at the intricate cockpit of a model helicopter. 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. They are tending to congregate, our poor French friends. Even the horns were easing into the concept and the woodwinds in the second movement were particularly well-orchestrated. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner.
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