‘I am not a murderer. Mr. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. The first of these, whom he addressed as Mr. Michelle greeted Mike with a smile. “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. He temporized, and the girl raised her eyes once more to his. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. For the present the desire to fly was gone. . “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason.
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