” He gave the note to the parlormaid the next morning in an inadvertent, casual manner just as he was leaving the house to catch his London train. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. Probably he taught me what a joke was merely to irritate my father; for suddenly Father stopped my going to the store for things and sent our old Kanaka cook instead. It was red and chapped. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. I don’t care WHAT happens. Killed is too kind a word. You must live for me.
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