"Of course," he went on, Ruth leaning forward, hanging on his words, "I was a good deal of a kid then; she didn't talk to me much about the—serious part of it. Maybe that was the reason she liked to talk to me—because she could just talk about the little things—old things. Though once or twice—"
"Yes, Ted?" she breathed, as he paused there.
"Well, she did say things to me, too. I remember once she said, 'It wasn't like Ruth. Something terrible happened. She didn't know what she was doing.'"
Ruth's hands were pressed tight together; unheeded tears were falling on them.
"And she used to worry about you, Ruth. When it was cold and she'd come into my room with an extra cover she'd say—'I wish I knew that my girl was warm enough tonight.'"
At that Ruth's face went down in her hands and she was sobbing.
"I don't know what I'm talking like this for!" muttered the boy angrily. "Making you feel so bad!"
She shook her head, but for a little could not look up. Then she choked: "No, I want to know. Never mind how it hurts, I want to know." And then, when she had controlled herself a little more she said, simply: "I didn't know it was like that. I didn't know mother felt—like that."
"She'd start to write to you, and then lots of times she wouldn't seem to know how. She wanted to write to you lots more than she did. But I don't know, Ruth, mother was queer. She seemed sort of bewildered. She—wasn't herself. She was just kind of powerless to do anything about things. She'd come in this room a lot. Sit in here by herself. One of the last days mother was around she called me in here and she had that dress you wore to Edith Lawrence's wedding spread out on the bed and was—oh, just kind of fussing with it. And the reason she called me in was that she wanted to know if I remembered how pretty you looked in it that night."
But Ruth had thrown out a hand for him to stop, had covered her face as if shutting something out. "Oh, I'm sorry, Ruth!" murmured Ted. "I'm a fool!" he cried angrily. But after a minute he added haltingly, "And yet—you did want to know, and—maybe it's fairer to mother, Ruth. Maybe—" but he could not go on and went over and stood by the window, not wanting to leave her like that, not knowing what to do.