“And where are YOU going?” he said. ‘I’ll handle her better alone. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. Lucy had snuck in the back door by the kitchen and Sheila was ready for her, standing between the stove 124 and the refrigerator. Her sister’s words were true. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. “It makes one feel quite awkward to mention such a thing, but after all I think that it is best for both parties. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently.
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