He knew that he must go with her—that she was one of those women who can never go anywhere or do anything alone. Impossible to explain how he knew this, or how, in the dark, and without having even once looked squarely at her, he knew that she was young, pretty, and charmingly dressed. Stifling a sigh, he set off at her side. It had to be.
She thanked him very nicely. He assured her that it was no trouble at all, and then they both fell silent. She sounded as if she were walking quickly, her little high heels clacking smartly on the pavement; but as a matter of fact their progress was slow—a snail’s pace, Edward thought. At this rate, he wouldn’t get back to the house for an hour—that is, if he ever did go back. He said to himself that he had not made up his mind what he would do; but in his heart he knew that he couldn’t help himself. He was a victim of destiny.
“But it is awfully nice of you!” said the fair unknown. “Were you just out taking a walk?”
“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Edward replied gloomily.
“That’s like me,” said she. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care where I go, or what becomes of me!”
This alarmed Edward. After having been married to Mildred for nearly six months, he knew that such people were possible. They really didn’t care where they went or what they did. They were incalculably dangerous and reckless.
“All women,” he thought somberly, “are alike—all of them!”
Perhaps at this moment Mildred was not caring where she went or what became of her.
“I know you must wonder,” the fair unknown continued. “I don’t suppose any one in the world could understand.”
She paused, but Edward gave her no encouragement.