"You mean that I'm not expected to come here again, tante?"
"I shall sail for France in a week," said Mrs. Barsaloux wearily.
"For France, tante? When did you decide?"
"This minute," said the lady, and gave the married lovers to understand that the interview was at an end.
Marna went weeping down the street, holding on to her George's arm.
"If she'd been Irish, she'd have cursed me," she sobbed, "and then I'd have had something to go on, so to speak. Perhaps I could have got her to take it off me in time. But what are you going to do with a snubbing like that?"
"Oh, leave it for the Arctic explorers to explain. They're used to being in below-zero temperature," George said with a troubled laugh. "I'm sure I can't waste any time thinking about a woman who could stand out against you, Marna, the way you are this day, and the way you're looking."
"But, George, she thinks I'm a monster."
"Then there's something wrong with her zoology. You're an--"
"Don't call me an angel, dear, whatever you do! There are some things I hate to be called--they're so insipid. If any one called me an angel I'd know he didn't appreciate me. Come, let's go to Kate's. She's my court of last appeal. If Kate can't forgive me, I'll know I've done wrong."