"Of course he's a coward! Why has he run away? Do brave men run away? No. Cowards run away. A mean, contemptible thing. That covers it. A contemptible cowardly act by a contemptible, cowardly man. And so ungrateful! Even as a boy he was ungrateful."
Now, to Joanna, who had known Cyrus intimately since the age of seven, he was the one perfect thing in creation. Morally he was an example for the angels; mentally the wonder of the age. So, being a somewhat literal person, these words came like stabs from a dagger and struck deep into her own heart. But she answered—more in sadness than in anger:
"I really can't imagine anybody thinking Cyrus ungrateful."
"Well, I do! He has no real love for anybody but himself. He thinks only of himself; only of himself!"
"Why, Miss Ruth, when Mrs. Eagan was laid up for nearly a whole summer, years ago, Cyrus took her a bowl of ice cream himself, every Sunday, after our own dinner. We had ice cream once a week. He was nothing but a boy then, but he——"
"Of course he did! Why not? Any boy would carry ice cream—just for the sake of holding it."
Joanna shook her head. "No. All boys are not like that."
Here Ruth turned fiercely upon her. "And how do you know he did? He probably ate it himself before he got to Mrs. Eagan's. He would tell you he didn't, of course. He's an awful liar and always was. You know that, Joanna, as well as I do."
"Liar! No, no, Miss Ruth! You don't know him. He got entirely over that, years ago. He's as truthful as anybody. Long ago, before he went away to school, his father made him ashamed of his lies and——"
"Oh, for a time perhaps! Bad boys don't become good over night."