In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. “I will take a carriage,” she said, “and fetch my things. “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 heart cannot take it. They clapped wildly afterward. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. “Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing.
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