"You are so good, Mr. Randolph, but you don't quite understand my father
in spite of what I have said. He would not relieve his suffering at the
expense of another, not if it were a hundred times more acute. You cannot
understand the old-fashioned, deep-rooted pride of the Sands."
"But can you not, at least temporarily, disguise from him just how you
have arranged the relief?"
Her big blue eyes stared at me in bewilderment.
"Mr. Randolph, I could not deceive father. I could not tell him a lie even
to save his life. It would be impossible. My father abhors a lie. He
believes a man or woman who would lie the lowest of the low things on
earth. When I go back to my father he will say, 'Tell me what you have
done.' I can just see him now, standing between the big white pillars at
the end of the driveway. I can hear him say calmly, 'Beulah, my daughter,
welcome. Your mother is waiting for you in her room. Do not lose a moment
getting to her.' Afterward he'll take me over the plantation to show me
all the familiar things, and not one word will he allow me to say about
our affairs until dinner is over, until the neighbours have left, for no
Sands returns from long absence without a fitting home welcome.
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