Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. “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. He saluted awkwardly. In the upper hall he paused to listen. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. ‘Certainly, if I was a nun, I know of many good names.
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