I sha'n't cry any more. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. It doesn't look bad, does it?" "Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. No further responsibility whatever. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer. His arm fell to his side. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. The door opened. “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. I must not let you go again.
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