XVII
"Divorced!" She felt herself reeling, hands outstretched before her, feeling for something tangible. "Divorced!"
"My God, I might have known you did not know."
"It's not true!" she whispered hoarsely.
"True!" repeated the professor with bitter emphasis.
"Then—why—" Frances put her hands up to her throat. Her father swept his arm about her and half lifted her into the dining-room and into the kitchen beyond. They would have no scene which that rascal there could look upon—the professor never varied his term again—say no wild words he could hear. The kitchen was deserted, Susan abed. The father put his daughter down in the darkey's old flag chair beside the stove where the fire yet gleamed.
"God only knows," he groaned, "how it was we never knew it."
"Did he tell you?" whispered Frances.