a little here and there to you." And, gloating and triumphant, and
either not seeing or, in her vulgarity, not caring what effect the
reading of my father's love letters would have on me, she began reading
ardent passages aloud. "See!" She showed me a page to prove that it was
in his handwriting. The letters told a tale easy to understand. She was
so eager in her vanity that she read on and on without seeing in my
face what, seen, would have made her stop.

A frightful trembling seized me, a loathing, a horror. This was my
father's woman ... and ... I!...

I sat on, dumbfounded, paralysed. I remembered his stories of trips to
T---- and other places on supposed lodge business ... unluckily, I also
remembered that several times Flora had been off on trips at the same
time.

"Just listen to this, will you!" and she began at another passage.

She was so absorbed in her reading that she did not see how I was on my
feet ... had seized my hat ... was going.

"I'm sorry, Flora, but I've got to go!"

"What?" looking up and surprised, "--got to go?"

"Yes ... Yes ... I must--must go!" my lips trembled.

"Why, we're just getting acquainted ... I didn't mean for you to go
yet."