with you. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket. She opened one and found herself in a large untidy room set with chairs that were a little disarranged as if by an overnight meeting. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. I believe that the common report was that you and your sister had come to Paris to study painting. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. “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. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. Jonathan threw open the street-door.
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