Zeena laughed. It was an odd unfamiliar sound—he did not remember ever having heard her laugh before. “You didn’t suppose I was going to keep two girls, did you? No wonder you were scared at the expense!”
He still had but a confused sense of what she was saying. From the beginning of the discussion he had instinctively avoided the mention of Mattie’s name, fearing he hardly knew what: criticism, complaints, or vague allusions to the imminent probability of her marrying. But the thought of a definite rupture had never come to him, and even now could not lodge itself in his mind.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “Mattie Silver’s not a hired girl. She’s your relation.”
“She’s a pauper that’s hung onto us all after her father’d done his best to ruin us. I’ve kep’ her here a whole year: it’s somebody else’s turn now.”
As the shrill words shot out Ethan heard a tap on the door, which he had drawn shut when he turned back from the threshold.
“Ethan—Zeena!” Mattie’s voice sounded gaily from the landing, “do you know what time it is? Supper’s been ready half an hour.”
Inside the room there was a moment’s silence; then Zeena called out from her seat: “I’m not coming down to supper.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! Aren’t you well? Sha’n’t I bring you up a bite of something?”
Ethan roused himself with an effort and opened the door. “Go along down, Matt. Zeena’s just a little tired. I’m coming.”
He heard her “All right!” and her quick step on the stairs; then he shut the door and turned back into the room. His wife’s attitude was unchanged, her face inexorable, and he was seized with the despairing sense of his helplessness.