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    â€œSee what I mean? What this is all about tonight is y’all never did want me to go to New York, and now you don’t want me to marry a Yankee.” She glared around the table. “Y’all are so smug—you more than anybody, Will.” Really gearing up, she had lapsed into Southern. “Why do y’all hate me? Why cain’t...why cain’t I live my life like I want to? Y’all are all like Pa. I had my big chance years ago, when that tourin’ Shakespeare company asked me to join the troupe. But, oh no, Pa said, ‘Loma, you ain’t go’n be no actress, so hesh up. I ain’t a-go’n let you do it.’ I’ll never forget the way he said it, like he was puttin’ his foot down on me, and squashin’ me. Then everybody in town had to have their say. ‘Lord hep Loma if’n she ends up a actress.’ I said someday I’ll be doin’ command performances for King Edward the Seventh, and they said even if I did, I’d never live down the taint. Why does everybody hate me?”
    â€œNow, Loma,” I said. “Now, Loma, don’t...”
    â€œDon’t you don’t me, Will Tweedy! It’s all y’all’s fault I married Campbell Williams. Pa said, ‘You ain’t marryin’ thet fool, Loma. I ain’t a-go’n let you.’ Well, I showed Pa. But I’d have thought twice if he’d left me alone.”
    Campbell Junior’s head hung down like a rosebud that had withered before it could open. Nobody said a word. As I’d just been reminded, if you talked back to Aunt Loma, it only fed the fire.
    â€œEverybody said I couldn’t make a livin’ in New York City, but I did.”
    â€œNow, Loma,” said Mama. “We just think, you ought to marry your own kind.”
    â€œMr. Vitch is my own kind. He cares about the finer things of life. And I’m go’n marry him. And I’m go’n keep on with my career, no matter what he or anybody else says. I found out there’s not much future for an actress with a Southern accent who can only play Shakespeare and Abraham Lincoln’s wife. But I’m not just any two-bit bo-hem’en. You’d know that if any of you had ever bothered to come see me perform. Y’all say you’re too busy to come. Main thing, y’all are ashamed of my bein’ an actress. You may like to know I’ve been offered a part in a real play! Mr. Vitch thinks I ought to quit the theater when we marry, but I’ve told him and told him...”
    She stopped. Her face was steamy red. In a frenzy, she raked her fingers through the short red curls, then clutched her forehead and threw her head back like in a New York melodrama. “I asked why y’all hate me. But I know why. Y’all are jealous. You’d like to be out of this hick town too, wouldn’t you? Well, Campbell Junior’s go’n be out of it, and have a chance to be somebody. He’s not...”
    â€œLoma Williams, shut up!” yelled Papa, banging his fist on the table.
    I thought she’d start crying or light into Papa, one. But she didn’t do either. Just pursed her lips and raised her chin—and shut us all out.
    It was Mama who looked ready to break apart.
    We all fell to eating again, or trying to. For once I couldn’t think of a thing to say. But Mary Toy did.
    With a forkful of string beans suspended halfway to her mouth, she grinned around the table as if Loma had just been chattering about somebody’s mah-jongg party or the price of French perfume. “Let me tell the funniest thing!” said Mary Toy, then took time to chew her beans before she told it. “You know I went over to Athens last week? I went for a lecture by a famous woman Latin scholar. She read from a prepared speech. But all of a sudden she stopped, just stood there staring at her paper. Finally, shaking her head she said, ‘This is