“Robert is here,” he answered coldly.
He had stood barring the door as it were, and now he stepped back to let her pass in.
“I must see him at once,” she said, turning round defiantly to Ben.
“He is sleeping,” Ben said sternly. “At least let him rest awhile.”
He lit the lamp, and placed it on the table, and then looked her straight in the face.
“You have heard everything from Robert,” she said, shrinking back almost imperceptibly.
“Robert has told me of his trouble,” Ben answered, trying manfully to restrain his anger. But he thought of his friend stricken to the heart, and his indignation could no longer be smothered.
“I blame you bitterly,” he said, folding his arms together tightly and towering before her. “Yes, you shall hear what I think of you. He says he has nothing against you, but I have everything against you! If you had not a heart to bring with you, and some kind of tenderness, why did you come out here? No one made you come. You could have stayed at home if you had chosen. That would have been better than this. But to come and give him nothing but scorn, and throw his failure in his face, and make him feel that you despise him for not having done better in the old country—I tell you that you are the one to be despised.”
“It is not your part to talk to me like this,” she said, interrupting him fiercely. “You are not my judge.”
“And yet I do judge you,” he flung out fearlessly, and then he glanced at her, and stopped short in the very heat of his anger and resentment, for her face wore a terribly strained expression of pain, and his gentler feelings were aroused even at that moment. “Ah, well,” he said, “words are not of much use after all. I am so deeply sorry for him, and for you too—there is nothing I would not do to set things right for you both.”