To perdition with them all. Half a minute, Vee. Either Sydney or Mr. “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. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. It wasn't worth while to invest imaginatively a man with evil projects simply because he was physically ugly. Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice.
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