They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. ” The conversation hung for a moment. “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. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating aspect, “that’s said and over. . White said. “It isn’t anything to do with our times particularly. I bring you tidings of an old friend. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. If only to say goodbye. And I’m afraid.
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