A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. She could not help but swoon a little. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. . “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 was the last thing she felt like drinking. In vain Wood protested his innocence. They were delighted. “I have been very selfish,” she declared. Her lips parted, but no words came. Once more he was the searcher. CHAPTER XII. And he would express various artistic sensibilities and aesthetic appreciations in carefully punctuated sentences and a large, clear voice.
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