"I want to know, Ruth," I said, my voice trembling, "why you shun me, dislike me, hate me so?"
CHAPTER IX
OMENS OF DARKNESS
Look here upon this picture, and on this;
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See what grace was seated on his brow;
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself.
An eye like Mars to threaten or command.
—Hamlet, Act III, Scene 3.
She looked up as if surprised at my question.
"Hate you, shun you, Roger," she repeated. "Whatever led you to ask such a question?"
"How can I help asking it," I said, "when it is true? You never have a word for me now. Your every thought is given to my brother. I suppose it is because Roger is a boor, Roger is a clown, Roger is ugly."
"What can possess you to speak in such a way?" she said.
I knew I had spoken foolishly; but I could not help it. I was mad with rage and jealousy. Having once begun to speak, all judgment and discretion were gone. I was determined to know my fate, determined to know if she loved my brother Wilfred.