“To a....” He caught the word just in time, slowly let go of her and stepped back.
“Say it,” she dared him. “To a ... to ... a what? Go on. Say it.”
John’s anger was gone. Other emotions had swallowed it up,—sorrow, pity, remorse, that devastating sense of loss again, more poignant than before in some new way, and above all a great yearning toward both of them.
“Where?” he asked, in a changed voice.
“In my father’s house,” said Agnes, derisively. “What a pity you missed it!”
“But what happened?” asked John.
She answered weirdly, improvising silly words to a silly tune:—
“What hap-pen-ed
What hap-pen-ed
What hap-pen-ed