” She hesitated. “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. Rummage, my boy, do. ” Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. Wood scarcely knew where he was. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. If only for the sake of her argument with her home, she wanted success. Where is he, Sir? Can I see him?" "No, that you can't," answered Mrs. ‘Typical. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish. "Hold!" interposed Thames, "he can do no more mischief. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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