Softly she rose to her feet. The Old Mint. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. You see—I didn’t understand. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Do you mind talking to some one else. The feeling of last days grew stronger with her as their number diminished. Again he rushed. You’ve got me. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town.
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