Elinor half rose, terrified.
“Not the police, Jim?”
“Sit down,” he said, in a tone Lily had
never heard him use before. And to Lily, more
gently: “I am not altogether surprised.
As a matter of fact, I have known it for some time.
Your esteemed grandfather seems to take a deep interest
in your movements these days.”
“Do you mean that I am being followed?”
“I’m afraid so. You see, you are
a very important person, and if you will venture in
the slums which surround the Cardew Mills, you should
be protected. At any time, for instance, Aunt
Elinor and I may despoil you of those pearls you wear
so casually, and—”
“Don’t talk like that, Jim,” Elinor
protested. She was very pale. “Are
you sure he is watching Lily?”
He gave her an ugly look.
“Who else?” he inquired suavely.
Lily sat still, frozen with anger. So this was
her grandfather’s method of dealing with her.
He could not lock her up, but he would know, day
by day, and hour by hour, what she was doing.
She could see him reading carefully his wicked little
notes on her day. Perhaps he was watching her
mail, too. Then when he had secured a hateful
total he would go to her father, and together they
would send her away somewhere. Away from Louis
Akers. If he was watching her mail too he would
know that Louis was in love with her. They would
rake up all the things that belonged in the past he
was done with, and recite them to her. As though
they mattered now!
She went to the window and looked out. Yes,
she had seen the detective before. He must have
been hanging around for days, his face unconsciously
impressing itself upon her. When she turned:
“Louis is coming to dinner, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“If you don’t mind, Aunt Nellie, I think
I’ll dine out with him somewhere. I want
to talk to him alone.”
“But the detective—”
“If my grandfather uses low and detestable means
to spy on me, Aunt Nellie, he deserves what he gets,
doesn’t he?”
When Louis Akers came at half-past six, he found that
she had been crying, but she greeted him calmly enough,
with her head held high. Elinor, watching her,
thought she was very like old Anthony himself just
then.
Willy Cameron came home from a night class in metallurgy
the evening after the day Lily had made her declaration
of independence, and let himself in with his night
key. There was a light in the little parlor,
and Mrs. Boyd’s fragile silhouette against the
window shade.
He was not surprised at that. She had developed
a maternal affection for him stronger than any she
showed for either Edith or Dan. She revealed
it in rather touching ways, too, keeping accounts when
he accused her of gross extravagance, for she spent
Dan’s swollen wages wastefully; making him coffee
late at night, and forcing him to drink it, although
it kept him awake for hours; and never going to bed
until he was safely closeted in his room at the top
of the stairs.
