CHAPTER VIII. ” There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. To find the incentive! But how? Thither and yon the idea roved, seeking the way. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew.
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