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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