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“What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. This farewell had been particularly distasteful to him. I won’t try. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. She wished he could smoke and dull his nerves a little. “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. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. ” “Do you mean,” Courtlaw asked, “that from now to the end of the six months you do not wish to see us—any of us?” Her eyes were a little dim again.
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