Mr. It was a “territory” back then, and many a Frenchman and a Redskin both had been devoured in those caves. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. He reached for her, and she struck savagely. He could not understand how men could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry. Prudence attacked her chicken wing.
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