“You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. ” “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” He made no answer for three or four seconds. “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 says only that he must tie up all the loose ends. He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. This is altogether insupportable. But get up behind, Blueskin.
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