“No, child—not that.”
“But you’d be glad if he were dead! There, you needn’t answer. But if you were absolutely honest, you’d have to admit it.”
“I’ll admit it,” said her mother, wearily. “Samuel Appleby has spoiled all our lives—is still spoiling them. He does it for his own selfish interests. He has ruined the happiness of my husband, myself, my daughter, and my prospective son-in-law. Is it any wonder that we should honestly wish he were dead? It may not sound Christian—but it is an honest expression of human nature.”
“It is, Mrs. Wheeler,” and Allen’s face looked more pained than shocked. “But, all the same, we oughtn’t to talk like that.”
“No, indeed,” agreed Wheeler. “Please, Maida, darling, don’t say such things. And, Sara, if you must say them, say them to me when we are alone. It’s no sort of talk for these young people’s ears.”
“Why, I said it before mother did!” Maida broke out. “And I mean it! I’m at the end of my rope. If that man is to hound us and torture us all our lives, I can’t help wishing him dead.”
“There, there, daughter, please don’t.”
“I won’t, dad. I’ll never say it again. But I put myself on record, and if the rest of you were honest, you’d do the same thing!”
“That we’d like to kill him?” asked Allen, smiling at the idea.
“I didn’t say that—I said we wish him dead. If a nice, convenient stroke of lightning came his way, or——”