“I am not surprised at that,” Frances said. “In fact, I had suspected it before.”
He turned upon her with that goaded expression which but for its suffering, might have intimidated her.
“What made you do that? What has he said to you?”
“Oh, nothing very much,” she answered gently. “I have thought him a little vague from time to time. I noticed that he never seemed to regard little Ruth as an actual belonging, for one thing.”
“Go on!” he said grimly. “You have noticed more than that.”
She faced him candidly. “ ‘Yes, I have. I have noticed a great lack of sympathy between him and his family for which I could not imagine they were to blame.”
“You never blamed me?” he said.
She hesitated. “I think I always knew that you were very heavily handicapped in some way,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes, damnably. But I won’t attempt to deceive you of all people, so far as I am concerned. I have a brutal temper, and I hate him! I hate him from the bottom of my soul—just as he hates me!”
“Oh, stop!” Frances said, shocked beyond words by the deadly emphasis with which he spoke.