She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. Do you mean to tell me you didn’t understand why I wanted you to come here?” “Not a bit of it,” said Ann Veronica stoutly. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. The first peg was torture. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. Sheppard. “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.
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