Lister made no comment. Odell went out heavily, crossed the farm yard in the pleasant sunset glow, walked on toward the house with lagging stride.
As he set foot on the porch he became conscious of his irritation, felt the heat of it in his cheeks—the same old familiar resentment which had smouldered through the dingy, discordant years of his first marriage.
Here it was again, creeping through him after all these placid years with Mazie—the same sullen apprehension, dull unease verging on anger, invading his peace of mind, stirred this time by Fanny’s child—Eris, daughter of Discord.
“Dang Fanny’s breed,” he muttered, entering the house, “—we allus was enemies deep down, ... deep down in the flesh....”
All at once he understood his real mind. Eris had always been Fanny’s child. Never his. He remembered what Fanny had said to him at the approach of death—how, in that last desperate moment the battered mask of years had slipped from her bony visage and he had gazed into the stark face of immemorial antipathy, ... the measureless resentment of a sex.
Fanny was dead. May God find out what she wants and give it to her. But Fanny’s race persisted. She lived again in Eris. He was face to face with it again.... After twenty years of peace!...
He went to the foot of the stairs and called to his wife. Her voice answered from the floor above. He plodded on upstairs.
Mazie was standing in Eris’ room, a pile of clothing on the bed, a suitcase and a small, flat trunk open on the floor.
She turned to Odell, her handsome features flushed, and the sparkle of tears in her slanting, black eyes.
“What’s the trouble now?” he demanded, already divining it.