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“My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. Miraculously, her schoolmates were so upswept in their own summer planning that they had no time to interrogate her. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. I think it inadvisable—I don’t want an intimacy to spring up between you and a man of that type. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars.
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