“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. " "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. " "But, Mac. It was the girl. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. Wood. With nobody who cares … the both of us!" He was real in this moment. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter.
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