A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. “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. “Morning, Mom. She had never been so happy to vomit. Alban's to-night. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. I had to ask Mr. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. ” “Oh no he doesn’t.
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