a closed the door quite softly and stood still.

"This has almost killed your father.... After Gwen!"

"I sent a telegram."

"He cares so much for you. He did so care for you."

"I sent a telegram to say I was all right."

"All right! And I never dreamed anything of the sort was going on. I
had no idea!" She sat down abruptly and threw her wrists limply upon the
table. "Oh, Veronica!" she said, "to leave your home!"

She had been weeping. She was weeping now. Ann Veronica was overcome by
this amount of emotion.

"Why did you do it?" her aunt urged. "Why could you not confide in us?"

"Do what?" said Ann Veronica.

"What you have done."

"But what have I done?"

"Elope! Go off in this way. We had no idea. We had such a pride in
you, such hope in you. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl.
Everything I could do! Your father sat up all night. Until at last I
persuaded him to go to bed. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come
after you and look for you--in London. We made sure it was just like
Gwen. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. You didn't even do that
Vee; not even that."

"I sent a telegram, aunt," said Ann Veronica.

"Like a stab. You didn't even put the twelve words."

"I said I was all right."

"Gwen said she was happy. Before that came your father didn't even
know you were gone. He was just getting cross about your being late for
dinner--you know his way--when it came. He opened it--just off-hand, and
then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon
flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. 'My God!' he said, 'I'll go
after them and kill him. I'll go after them and kill him.' For the
moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen."

"But what did father imagine?"

"Of course he imagined! Any one would! 'What has happened, Peter?' I
asked. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. He
used a most awful word! Then he said, 'It's Ann Veronica gone to join
her sister!' 'Gone!' I said. 'Gone!' he said. 'Read that,' and threw the
telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. He swore when I tried
to get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. Then he sat
down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be
strung up. It was as much as I could do to prevent him flying out of the
house there and then and coming after you. Never since I was a girl have
I seen your father so moved. 'Oh! little Vee!' he cried, 'little