“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 can be very useful, that. To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question. ‘Civilian peace-keeping forces, you know. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. Is it so, Annabel?” “I did not know,” she faltered, “anything about you. "However, I'll refresh your memory.
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