“It would be very jolly out at the shack.”
Ruth shuddered elaborately and gave a little laugh.
“Would it? It’s rather a question of taste. Personally, I can’t imagine anything more depressing and uncomfortable than being cooped up in a draughty frame house miles away from anywhere. There’s no reason why you should not go, though, if you like that sort of thing. Of course, you must not take Bill.”
“Why not?”
Kirk spoke calmly enough, but he was very near the breaking point. All his good resolutions had vanished under the acid of Ruth’s manner.
“I couldn’t let him rough it like that. Aunt Lora would have a fit.”
Conditions being favourable, it only needs a spark to explode a powder magazine; and there are moments when a word can turn an outwardly calm and patient man into a raging maniac. This introduction of Mrs. Porter’s name into the discussion at this particular point broke down the last remnants of Kirk’s self-control.
For a few seconds his fury so mastered him that he could not speak. Then, suddenly, the storm passed and he found himself cool and venomous. He looked at Ruth curiously. It seemed incredible to him that he had ever loved her.
“We had better get this settled,” he said in a hard, quiet voice.
Ruth started. She had never heard him speak like this before. She had not imagined him capable of speaking in that way. Even in the days when she had loved him most she had never looked up to him. She had considered his nature weak, and she had loved his weakness. Except in the case of her father, she had always dominated the persons with whom she mixed; and she had taken it for granted that her will was stronger than Kirk’s. Something in his voice now told her that she had under-estimated him.