She did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry. “Once or twice. Ever and again Capes appealed to Ann Veronica. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. I see now that you make a game with me indeed. “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 don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. It was no use.
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