Her mind had been and was full of the thought of Capes, a huge generalized Capes-lover. She looked up quickly. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. The biological laboratory had an atmosphere that was all its own. Ice had begun to form in the shallows. Spurling. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. “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. It is not at all what I expected either. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said.
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