Mrs. When first you left your home you had no idea that I was the hidden impulse. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. He cabled to New York: "Probable destination known. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off.
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