The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. “We won’t. “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, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty.
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