She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. “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. “You did good!” She closed her eyes and rested in the moment, imagining a normal life where she would go to college, have babies with John, watch her children have children, live, and die as she had always wanted to. “I am off to-night,” he said. “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand. ’ Arrested, Melusine eyed her with interest.
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