“Of course you wouldn't. Oh, Daddy, if you weren't the very worst diplomat in all this world this wouldn't have happened. Why didn't you tell me all about it? Why didn't you write me the truth long, long ago? If I had only come sooner! If I had only known! Oh, WHY did you let things reach this state? Why didn't you stop it?”
“Stop it? Stop what?”
“Oh, everything. Don't you remember that I told you to send for me if you needed me? To send at any time and I would come? And don't you remember that I wrote you if you felt this moving to Scarford was wrong to say no and stick to it? Why didn't you do that?”
“Why, I—I—Serena, she was so set on comin' and all that, that—”
“I know. You needn't tell me. And yet, in a way, it seems strange. I remember some things Laban Ginn, Azuba's husband, told me about you and your ways aboard ship; he said your crews obeyed every order you gave as if it was what he called 'Gospel.' You, and no one else, was master there. However, that is not pertinent just now. Run along to bed, there's a dear.”
Daniel obediently rose.
“But what are you goin' to do, Gertie?” he asked.
“I don't know what I am going to do. First of all I am going to see and find out for myself. Then I shall decide. One thing seems certain: I shall not go back to college.”
“Not go back! Not go back to college? Why, it's your last term! What'll your mother say? What'll John say?”
Gertrude's lips closed tightly and she gave a determined toss of her head.