Men do not understand constancy as women do. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. Primarily it was her own problem, and in particular the answer she had to give to Mr. “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. The father would be all steel. We were alike. Tell Bess to slip out, and I'll put on her cloak and hood. To Ah Cum, who was watching her covertly, the smile was like a bit of unexpected sunshine. ” “Thanks for the nice evening, John. I have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here into Park Lane, or one of the Squares. She crushed the letter in her hand. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe.
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