She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. “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. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. She was no longer a confederate in that. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. She was beautiful once, Lucia. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes.
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