“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. ” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. I know life. I thought you understood. Better even than these. Well, after a time there came a fever in my blood. Speaking of mean, you watch out for Kate Bitchster. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him. " "But you can imagine it.
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