His tone made her look at him in inquiry, but he had turned his back to her again. "I was just wondering about getting their room ready," she said.
For a moment Ted did not speak, did not turn toward her. Then, "We don't have to bother getting any room ready for Cy," he said, with a scoffing little laugh.
Ruth's hand went up to her throat—a curious movement, as if in defense. "What do you mean, Ted?" she asked in low quick voice.
Ted's finger was again snapping the window pane. Once more he laughed disdainfully. "Our esteemed brother is going to the hotel," he jeered.
As Ruth did not speak he looked around. He could not bear her face. "Don't you care, Ruth," he burst out. "Why, what's the difference?" he went on scoffingly. "The hotel's a good place. He'll get along all right down there—and it makes it just so much the better for us."
But even then Ruth could not speak; it had come in too tender a moment, had found her too exposed; she could only cower back. Then pride broke through. "Cyrus needn't go to the hotel, Ted. If he can't stay in the same house with me—even when father is dying—then I'll go somewhere else."
"You'll not!" he blazed, with a savagery that at once startled and wonderfully comforted her. "If Cy wants to be a fool, let him be a fool! If he can't act decent—then let him do what he pleases—or go to the devil!"
She murmured something in remonstrance, but flooded with gratefulness for the very thing she tried to protest against. And then even that was struck out. She had brought about this quarrel, this feeling, between the two brothers. Ted's antagonism against Cyrus, comforting to her, might work harm to Ted. Those were the things she did. That was what came through her.
The comfort, communion, peace of a few minutes before seemed a mockery. Out of her great longing she had deluded herself. Now she was cast back; now she knew. It was as if she had only been called out in order to be struck back. And it seemed that Ted, whom she had just found again, she must either lose or harm. And the shame of it!—children not coming together under their father's roof when he was dying! Even death could not break the bitterness down. It made her know just how it was—just where she stood. And she thought of the town's new talk because of this.
"It's pretty bad, isn't it, Ted?" she said finally, looking up to him with heavy eyes.