‘Dear me. Lucy howled as tooth met bone, her arm clamped in the trap of Rhea’s huge canines. “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. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. “I wouldn’t make this objection,” Mr. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. I don’t suggest any philanthropy. Daughters were in the air that day.
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