“But what?”
“I thought you only meant that to satisfy mother.”
Daniel Harcourt felt the blood settling round his heart, but he was constrained by an irresistible impulse to know the worst. “Well, what did YOU think it really was?”
“I only thought that 'Lige Curtis had simply let you have it, that's all.”
Harcourt breathed again. “But what for? Why should he?”
“Well—ON MY ACCOUNT.”
“On YOUR account! What in Heaven's name had YOU to do with it?”
“He loved me.” There was not the slightest trace of vanity, self-consciousness or coquetry in her quiet, fateful face, and for this very reason Harcourt knew that she was speaking the truth.
“Loved YOU!—you, Clementina!—my daughter! Did he ever TELL you so?”
“Not in words. He used to walk up and down on the road when I was at the back window or in the garden, and often hung about the bank of the creek for hours, like some animal. I don't think the others saw him, and when they did they thought it was Parmlee for Euphemia. Even Euphemia thought so too, and that was why she was so conceited and hard to Parmlee towards the end. She thought it was Parmlee that night when Grant and Rice came; but it was 'Lige Curtis who had been watching the window lights in the rain, and who must have gone off at last to speak to you in the store. I always let Phemie believe that it was Parmlee,—it seemed to please her.”