She grew slowly and miserably aware of the domestic volcano over which she lived. Millie believed now with all her heart that she had come to make trouble; though Ellen's help lightened her tasks by more than half and enabled her to put on flesh she made it appear constantly, by devices difficult to describe, but known to all who are compelled to associate with women of her type, that she believed the help to be unwillingly given.
For a long time Ellen did not understand the exact source of this resentment. She laid her hand as of old on Matthew's shoulder; she walked with him about the farm on Sunday afternoons; she pored with him over calculations. Most foolishly of all she tried to improve the extraordinary speech of little Matthew.
The summer was intensely warm; through July the opening of an outer door brought heat like a leaping flame into one's face, and the nights were often one long wish for morning. Ellen grew gradually accustomed to the hard labor, to the rising before dawn, to the insufferable afternoons. She shared Matthew's anxiety about the harvest; it seemed that before the wheat crop was brought in destructive storms must break.
Sometimes in the late afternoon when vitality was at its lowest point, she remembered the airy rooms in which she had lived last summer, the bare floors, the furniture in chintz covers, the drifting of white curtains in a gentle breeze. But of last summer she did not often let herself think. She heard no word from Stephen, nor sent him any. She remembered now half-acknowledged dreams, more vivid in retrospect than they had been in actuality, of position and travel and great possessions, and her heart burned, now with self-reproach, now with resentment at life's cruel chances.
The wheat was safely harvested and no rain fell. Matthew, increasingly anxious about the corn, searched the sky for clouds. He was irritable even with the children. Ellen bore with him and pitied him and obeyed the commands of Millie.
Early in August Matthew sat one evening on the doorstep. There had been since noon a low bank of clouds in the west, but he had often been deceived by banks of clouds. When they rose higher, he was immensely cheered, pointing them out to Millie, who merely looked sullenly in the opposite direction, and said nothing. He turned to Ellen and asked her to walk with him to the woodland from which they could get a better view. She looked at Millie's lowering face.