Ken, you are ignorant in some fields. Subconsciously she wanted to spite me. She likes to be let entirely alone the way you let her be. But, of course, I am not such an easy mark.'
'What on earth are you saying?' said Mr. Gibson in amazement. 'Of course, there is such a thing as an accident. She turned to look because you startled her . . . and then her hand . . .'
'Oh no,' said Ethel.
'Wait a minute.' Mr. Gibson turned to see what might be on Rosemary's face but Rosemary was no longer in the room. She was gone. It was disconcerting.
Mr. Gibson turned back and said severely, 'I don't agree with your suspicions, Ethel.'
'Suspicions?' sighed Ethel, 'or normal precautions? The fact is, old dear,' she continued affectionately, 'all of us can't live in a romantic, poetical and totally gentle world. Some of us have to face things as they are.' Her bright eyes were direct and honest and he feared they were wise. 'Face reality,' she said.
'What reality?' he snapped.
'Facts,' said Ethel. 'Malice, resentment, self-interest— the necessities of the ego—all the real driving forces behind what people do. The conscious mind, old dear, is only the peak of the iceberg. You believe so easily in the pretty surfaces . . .'
'I do!'
'Yes, you,' said Ethel kindly. 'You don't know a tenth of what goes on, Ken. Your head's in the clouds. Always has been. Of course I love you for it. . . . But for every saint with his head in the clouds,' sighed Ethel, 'I suppose there has to be somebody to take the brunt of things as they really are.'
'I see no reason,' said Mr. Gibson with stubborn lips, 'to mistrust Mrs. Violette.'
'You wouldn't see a reason to mistrust anyone,' said Ethel indulgently, 'until the deed popped up and hit you in your nice fastidious nose. You have always sidestepped the nasty truths of this earth, brother dear. More power to you.'
He stared at her.
'Oh, I'm sorry,' she said, and she did look sorry, 'I shouldn't say these things . . .'
'Why not?' he cried, 'if you believe them.'
But Ethel evaded and said, 'You are a lot like Mama was, you know? I think you should have been the woman, Ken, and I should have been born the man.'
'Tell me,' he cried. 'What are you saying?'
'You musn't pay any attention. Your world of poetry and quixotic goodness and faith and all the rest is a pretty darned nice place. . . .'
'And your world?' he demanded. 'I imagine you call it the real world, he said, goaded to some anger.
Ethel responded to the anger. 'Mine?' She looked him in the eye. 'It happens to be full of knives-in-the-back and all kinds of human meannesses. It cannot help but be. Men are animals, whether you like it or not.'
'And you say,' he groped back for something solid with which to challenge her, 'That Mrs. Violette broke the blue vase deliberately?'
'Of course, she didn't consciously plan it,' said Ethel. ' 'You don't understand. But she did break it to displease me, just the same.'
'I don't believe itI' said Mr. Gibson. 'Don't then,' said Ethel. 'Stay as sweet as you are . . . that's in a song, isn't it?' She grinned at him and he knew her teasing was a form of apology. 'You are a lamb, Ken, and everybody loves a lamb. I cannot help it if I am no lamb, you know. Now, I haven't upset you, have I?'
He thought he felt as upset as he had ever felt in his life. He scarcely knew why, but he was afraid for Rosemary. So he struggled up, and, using his cane, he limped into the kitchen.
Mrs. Violette was briskly washing the counter. Rosemary was there too, just staring out the window. He thought she looked rather lonely.
'Now, Mrs. Violette,' he said, 'please understand that I will pay for the vase. It wasn't your fault.' Mrs. Violette shrugged and said nothing. Rosemary said in a brisk voice, 'Mrs. Violette tells me she has to leave us, Kenneth. She's going away with her husband, next week.'
'Is that so?' he said unhappily. 'Yeah, we're taking off to the mountains,' said Mrs. Violette. 'He's going after a new job for the both of us. If we get it, we'll stay on up there.'
'On a ranch,' said Rosemary. 'How nice that will be!' She sounded rather desperately cheerful. 'But we'll miss you, Mrs. Violette.'
Mrs. Violette made no response. She didn't care whether she'd be missed. She wasn't even angry at Ethel any-more, for all Mr. Gibson could see.
'Ought we to try to get somebody else?' said he across to Rosemary worriedly.
'No,' she said. 'No. I'm able. Ethel and I can manage beautifully.' He couldn't read her eyes af all.
'But if one day,' he said, 'Ethel were to go and live on her own, then . . .'
'Oh, she musn't do that!' cried Rosemary. 'That would be a shame! Your only sister, Kenneth, and so good to come ...' He saw her hands on the round wood of the kitchen chair. The knuckles were blue-white. 'Such a fine person,' Rosemary said. 'So wise and so good.'
Mr. Gibson felt alarmed. Something was wrong with Rosemary. She was a stranger and far away and how could he tell what was the matter when she seemed shut up against him . . . when her eyes seemed to search his so . . . could it be? . . . fearfully. Ethel was right, he conceded. There must be a good deal going on that he missed. He felt lost. What anxiety, what stress could there be, to so inhabit Rosemary's eyes? 'Yes,' he said absently. 'Of course she is.'
