using at his direction while father lined the border beside the bed with
his sharp spade. I knew the contempt in his voice was for the illness of
Jefferson, and the Reverend Mr. Goodloe and I both laughed as he took
the last bite of the brown slab and then held out the unbitten side of
the apple to me.

"You eat your fruit with me, not in dumplings with hard sauce," he said,
and there was a wooing note in his voice as if he pleaded for that
friendliness from me to heal a hurt.

"No, _I_ won't eat out of your hand," I answered, with a cool emphasis
on the "I." And I looked him straight in the eyes, for I wanted him to
know that I had thoroughly understood his refusal of my invitation
couched so gently, but which I considered in reality haughty and
resentful, especially as I had been his guest in his car. "We'll wait
until you get your shower, father, and not much longer," I said to
father, as I turned and went along the flagstones to the steps that led
to the balcony upon which opened the long windows of the dining room. I
was furious and I was hurt.

At times I become acutely conscious that I am very imperious, but it is
not entirely my fault. My friends have depended upon my clear head, in
which father's brain seems to work with a kind of feminine vigor, and I
have always felt that the superior force with which I have loved and
cherished them made it all right. I've always stood by them and used
myself mercilessly for their exigencies, and I suppose I have ruled them
as mercilessly. I rarely encounter another will, and to clash into one
as strong as mine drew the sparks of my nature. The blaze was soon over,
but I--smouldered.