ie's name, fearing he hardly knew what: criticism, complaints, or
vague allusions to the imminent probability of her marrying. But the
thought of a definite rupture had never come to him, and even now could
not lodge itself in his mind.

"I don't know what you mean," he said. "Mattie Silver's not a hired
girl. She's your relation."

"She's a pauper that's hung onto us all after her father'd done his best
to ruin us. I've kep' her here a whole year: it's somebody else's turn
now."

As the shrill words shot out Ethan heard a tap on the door, which he had
drawn shut when he turned back from the threshold.

"Ethan--Zeena!" Mattie's voice sounded gaily from the landing, "do you
know what time it is? Supper's been ready half an hour."

Inside the room there was a moment's silence; then Zeena called out from
her seat: "I'm not coming down to supper."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Aren't you well? Sha'n't I bring you up a bite of
something?"

Ethan roused himself with an effort and opened the door. "Go along down,
Matt. Zeena's just a little tired. I'm coming."

He heard her "All right!" and her quick step on the stairs; then he
shut the door and turned back into the room. His wife's attitude was
unchanged, her face inexorable, and he was seized with the despairing
sense of his helplessness.

"You ain't going to do it, Zeena?"

"Do what?" she emitted between flattened lips.

"Send Mattie away--like this?"

"I never bargained to take her for life!"

He continued with rising vehemence: "You can't put her out of the house
like a thief--a poor girl without friends or money. She's done her best
for you and she's got no place to go to. You may forget she's your kin
but everybody else'll remember it. If you do a thing like that what do
you suppose folks'll say of you?"

Zeena waited a moment, as if giving him time to feel the full force
of the contrast between his own excitement and her composure. Then she
replied in the same smooth voice: "I know well enough what they say of
my having kep' her here as long as I have."

Ethan's hand dropped from the door-knob, which he had held clenched
since he had drawn the door shut on Mattie. His wife's retort was like a
knife-cut across the sinews and he felt suddenly weak and powerless.
He had meant to humble himself, to argue that Mattie's keep didn't cost
much, after all, that he could make out to buy a stove and fix up a
place in the attic for the hired girl--but Zeena's words revealed