Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. “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’s my point. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her. “I’ll get dressed. Twenty-one, twenty-two. Having secured this,—for he was almost famished,—he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change.
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