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a deep breath and stood my ground firmly.
"No, I simply inherited compassion and human
kindness," I said. My words cut so deeply, she
winced. Bruce no longer had a smile on his face,
impish or otherwise. He shifted his weight from one
leg to the other and gazed apprehensively at Daphne. "That will be enough of that," she said slowly,
her eyes as dark as shadows in the swamp. "You
disobeyed me. I want you to understand right from the
start what it means to be insubordinate. Your father is
no longer here to make excuses for you." She pulled
herself back and her shoulders up to pass sentence on
me. "You are to go upstairs and remain in your room
until it is time to attend your father's funeral. I will
have Martha bring up your meals, and you are not to
see anyone."
"But the wake. . . greeting mourners . . ." "We'll make excuses for you, tell people you
aren't feeling well, and that way prevent everyone
from knowing about your misbehavior," she said
curtly.
"But it wasn't misbehavior," I insisted. "I have a
right to see Uncle Jean, and he should have been told
about Daddy, and you shouldn't have had them move
him into the ward."
For a moment, my continued defiance disarmed
her. Then she gathered all her bitterness and leaned
forward.
"When you are twenty-one," she replied, her
eyes somewhat wider, "you will be able to make
financial decisions without my interference or
opinions. You can take your entire inheritance and
