I could not go
on now and tell my story: that I had killed Lamborn because of his
offense against Zoe, because of his menacing attitude toward me, because
of the vile things he had said about Zoe. No! nothing I could say now
would be in place. I had blundered, perhaps. We walked to the house,
silent all the way.
Dorothy went to her room, leaving me in the hands of her mother. Mrs.
Clayton, thinking that we had had a lovers' quarrel, endeavored by extra
attention to me to overcome Dorothy's absence, and to say to me in this
way that she did not share in Dorothy's attitude.
And so it was that Mrs. Clayton and I dined together; and I now had
opportunity to tell her of little Amos, of my life in England, of my
farm, my new house, my plans for the future. Mrs. Clayton was outspoken
enough. She said that Reverdy admired my father for many things, and did
not particularly censure his marriage. As for that it was a common
enough thing in the South for the planters to have children by negro
women, or by the prettier quadroons and octoroons. For herself she
hated slavery, but did not know what would be done if the negroes were
free.
Dorothy did not appear. We rose from the table and went out to sit under
one of the great trees in the yard. I thought I saw an opportunity. Why
not talk to Mrs.
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