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Gladys Tate's face went paper white for a moment and then she shot Daddy a stabbing glance.

"Let that be my concern, monsieur, and not yours," she said, her voice resembling a snake's hiss. She straightened her back again and looked at me. "After it's over, Gabriel can return home and no one will know any of the dreary details. She can go on with her life and be the candidate for marriage to a decent man you hoped she would be."

"What about the baby?" Daddy asked, undaunted.

"The baby," she said after a deep breath. "I told you. Everyone will think the baby is mine. The baby will remain here and be brought up a Tate. He or she is a Tate anyway," she added.

"I don't know," Daddy said, shaking his head. "My wife, she may not put up with this, no. . . ."

"What's the alternative?" she fired. "Your wife will live in utter shame forever, I'm sure. Surely," she said, turning to me, "you don't want your mother to go through the indignity, to be the subject of gossip forever, to have to avoid the looks of others, to know people are whispering about you. Blaming my husband won't be enough to exonerate you, Gabriel," she charged, nodding at me. "Men will still think you were somewhat responsible, especially when everyone learns you were swimming nude."

I tried to swallow, but my throat lump was like a rock. She kept her eyes fixed on me so intently, I was unable to look away. I couldn't help but think about Mama. Gladys Tate was right. Mama would never show it, but I knew she would feel terrible. Some people would stop using her as a traiteur, and others would treat us like lepers.

"Daddy?" I said after a moment. "I think she might be right."

"What? You saying you want to do this, give up the baby and all?"

I nodded slowly and lowered my head like a flag of defeat. It did seem like a sensible solution to all the problems.

"I don't know. Keeping my daughter like a prisoner, keeping the baby . . ."

"Octavious," Gladys said sharply, and then smiled like a Cheshire cat, "why don't you take Monsieur Landry into the office and discuss the financial considerations, while Gabriel and I have our own little chat."

Octavious looked at her a moment and then stood up as if he had to lift three times his weight. She pulled him aside at the door and whispered something in his ear that made him crimson.

"Are you crazy?" he said. "He'll just drink it up, waste it."

"That's not our concern," she said. "Monsieur," she added, turning to Daddy. He glanced at me and then rose slowly.

"This ain't a done deal," he said. "Not till I hear what they have to offer, hear, Gabriel?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good." He exchanged a look with Gladys Tate, but she couldn't be intimidated. He knew it and followed Octavious out of the room and to the office. Gladys Tate closed the door behind them and took a seat in the high-back chair. She rested her arms over the chair arms and kept her back straight. To me she looked regal. Even though we were on the same level, I felt as if I were gazing up at her or she were looking down at me.

"I assume," she began, "that this will be your first baby."

"Oh, of course, madame."

She sneered. "You want to sit there and tell me you were a virgin when my husband made love to you?"

"But it's true, madame."

She stared a moment, her eyes blinking quickly. "Perhaps it is," she said in what I thought was a much sadder, deeper voice. She sighed and looked toward the shaded windows. "It is my fault, me," she said, and brought her lace silk handkerchief to her eyes. "He can obviously make a baby. I'm having trouble."

"I'm sorr

y, madame."

She spun on me as if she just realized I had heard her words, and her eyes turned crystal-hard.

"I don't want your pity, thank you. What were you doing out there in the pond? Setting a trap for him?"

"What?"

She nodded, her smile slight and twisted. "Bathing in the nude, knowing he was poling nearby, a good-looking, rich man . . ."

"No, madame. I swear."