“Well, I’m sure I don’t know,” said Easton, as he looked alternatively at the list of debts and the three letters. “I give you nearly every farthing I earn and I never interfere about anything, because I think it’s your part to attend to the house, but it seems to me you don’t manage things properly.”
The woman suddenly burst into a passion of weeping, laying her head on the seat of the chair that was standing near the cradle.
Easton started up in surprise.
“Why, what’s the matter?” he said.
Then as he looked down upon the quivering form of the sobbing woman, he was ashamed. He knelt down by her, embracing her and apologizing, protesting that he had not meant to hurt her like that.
“I always do the best I can with the money,” Ruth sobbed. “I never spend a farthing on myself, but you don’t seem to understand how hard it is. I don’t care nothing about having to go without things myself, but I can’t bear it when you speak to me like you do lately. You seem to blame me for everything. You usen’t to speak to me like that before I—before—Oh, I am so tired—I am so tired, I wish I could lie down somewhere and sleep and never wake up any more.”
She turned away from him, half kneeling, half sitting on the floor, her arms folded on the seat of the chair, and her head resting upon them. She was crying in a heartbroken helpless way.
“I’m sorry I spoke to you like that,” said Easton, awkwardly. “I didn’t mean what I said. It’s all my fault. I leave things too much to you, and it’s more than you can be expected to manage. I’ll help you to think things out in future; only forgive me, I’m very sorry. I know you try your best.”
She suffered him to draw her to him, laying her head on his shoulder as he kissed and fondled her, protesting that he would rather be poor and hungry with her than share riches with anyone else.
The child in the cradle—who had been twisting and turning restlessly all this time—now began to cry loudly. The mother took it from the cradle and began to hush and soothe it, walking about the room and rocking it in her arms. The child, however, continued to scream, so she sat down to nurse it: for a little while the infant refused to drink, struggling and kicking in its mother’s arms, then for a few minutes it was quiet, taking the milk in a half-hearted, fretful way. Then it began to scream and twist and struggle.