She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. You can, too, if you wish. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. That night she found a ship bound to sail for the heathen nation called America.
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