Until a few moments before Ruth had never had a suspicion of
Bonbright's feeling for her; she had not imagined he would ever cross
that distinct line which separates the friend from the suitor. It was
an unpleasant surprise to her. Not that he was repugnant to her, but
she had already bestowed her affections, and now she would have to hurt
this boy who had already suffered so much at the hands of others. She
recoiled from it. She blamed herself for her blindness, but she was not
to blame. What she had failed to foresee Bonbright himself had realized
only that morning.
He had awakened suddenly to the knowledge that his sentiment for Ruth
Frazer was not calm friendship, but throbbing love. He had been
awakened to it rudely, not as most young men are shown that they
love.... When he flung out of his father's office that morning he had
recognized only a just rage; hardly had his feet carried him over the
threshold before rage was crowded out by the realization of love. His
father's words had aroused his rage because he loved the woman they
maligned! Suddenly he knew it....
"It's SO," he said to himself. "It's so--and I didn't know it."
It was disconcerting, but he was glad. Almost at once he realized what
a change this thing brought into his life, and the major consequences
of it.... First, he would have her--he must have her--he would not live
without her. It required no effort of determination to arrive at that
decision. To win her, to have her for his own, was now the one
important thing in his life. To do so would mean--what would it mean?
The Family, dead and living, would be outraged. His father would stand
aghast at his impiousness; his mother, class conscious as few of the
under dogs are ever class conscious, would refuse to receive this girl
as her daughter.... There would be bitterness--but there would be
release. By this one step he would break with the Family Tradition and
the Family Ghosts. They would cast him out.... But would they cast him
out? He was Bonbright Foote VII, crown prince of the dynasty, vested
with rights in the family and in the family's property by family laws
of primogeniture and entail.... No, he would not be cast out, could not
be cast out, for his father would let no sin of his son's stand in the
way of a perpetuation of the family. Bonbright knew that if a complete
breach opened between his father and himself it must be his hand that
opened it. His father's would never do so.... He wondered if he could
do so--if, when he was calm, he would desire to do so.
Once he recognized his love he could not be still; office walls could
not contain him. He was in a fever to see Ruth with newly opened eyes,
with eyes that would see her as they had not seen her in the days
before.... He rushed out--to encounter Hangar, and to experience a
surging return of rage.... Then he went on, with no aim or purpose but
to get rid of the time that must pass before he could see Ruth. It was
ten o'clock, and he could not see her until five. Seven hours....
Now she was here, within reach of his hand, her face, not beautiful by
day, very lovely to his eyes as the rising moon stretched a ribbon of
light across the lake to touch her with its magic glow... and he could
not find words to say what must be said.
He had seated her on the bench and now paced up and down before her,
struggling to become coherent.
Then words came, a torrent of them, not coherent, not eloquent, but
REAL. Ruth recognized the reality in them. "I want you," he said,
standing over her. "I didn't know--I didn't realize... until to-day.
It's so.... It's been so right along. That's why I had to come to
you.... I couldn't get along without seeing you, but I didn't know
why.... I thought it was to see you smile. But it was because I had to
be near you.... I want to be near you always. This morning I found
out--and all day I've waited to see you.... That's all I've
done--thought about you and waited. It seems as if morning were years
away.... I don't know what I've done all day--just wandered around. I
didn't eat--until to-night. I couldn't. I couldn't do anything until I
saw you--and told you.... That's why I brought you here.... I wanted to
tell you HERE--not back there.... Away from all that. ... I can't go on
without you--that's what you mean to me. You're NECESSARY--like air or
water.... I--Maybe you haven't thought about me this way. I didn't
about you.... But you MUST... you MUST!"
It was pitiful. Tears wet Ruth's cheeks and she caught her breath to
restrain a rising sob.
He became calmer, gentler. "Maybe I've surprised you," he said. "Maybe
I've frightened you--I hope not. I don't mean to frighten you. I don't
want you ever to be frightened or worried.... I want to keep all kinds
of suffering out of your life if you'll let me. Won't you let me?..."
He stood waiting.
"Mr. Foote," she said, presently, "I--" then she stopped. She had
intended to tell him about Dulac; that she loved him and had promised
to marry him, but she could not utter the words. It would hurt him so
to know that she loved another man. She could refuse him without that
added pain. "Don't you see," she said, "how impossible it is? It
wouldn't do--even if I cared for you."
"If you cared for me," he said, "nothing could make it impossible."
"We belong in different worlds.... You couldn't come down to mine; I
wouldn't fit into yours. My world wouldn't have you, and your world
wouldn't have me.... Don't you see?"
"I don't see. What has your world or mine to do with it? It's just you
and me."
"When you saw that your family wouldn't have me, when you found out
that your friends wouldn't be friends with me, and that they didn't
want to be friends with you any longer just because you married me ..."
"I don't want any friends or family but you," he said, eagerly,
boyishly.
"Be reasonable, Mr. Foote.... You're rich. Some day you'll be the head
of a great business--with thousands of men working for you.... I belong
with them. You must be against them.... I couldn't bear it. You know
all about me. I've been brought up to believe the things I believe. My
father and grandfather and HIS grandfather worked and suffered for
them.... Just as your ancestors have worked and planned for the things
you represent.... It wouldn't ever do. We couldn't be happy. Even if
I--cared--and did as you ask--it wouldn't last."
"It would last," he said. "I KNOW. I've been trying to tell you, to
make you believe that you have crowded everything else out of my life.
There's just you in it.... It would last--and every day and every year
it would grow--more wonderful."
"There must be agreement and sympathy between a husband and his wife,
Mr. Foote.... Oh, I KNOW. In the bigger things. And there we could
never agree. It would make trouble--trouble that couldn't be avoided
nor dodged. It would be there with us every minute--and we'd know it.
You'd know I hated the things you stand for and the things you have to
do.... No man could bear that--to have his wife constantly reproaching
him."
"I think," he said, "that your word would be my law...."
She sat silent, startled. Unasked, unsought, a thought had entered her
mind; a terrifying thought, but a big and vital thought. HER WORD WOULD
BE HIS LAW. Her influence would be upon him.... And he was master of
thousands of her class. He would be master of more thousands.... If she
were his wife--if her word might become his law--how would those
laboring men be affected? Would her word be his law with respect to
them?...
She did not love him, but she did love the Cause she represented, that
her promised husband, Dulac, represented.... Her father had given his
life for it. She had given nothing. Now she could give--herself.... She
could sacrifice herself, she could pass by her love--but would it avail
anything?... This boy loved her, loved her with all his strength and
honesty. He would continue to love her. She believed that.... If, not
loving him, she should marry him, she would be able to hold his
love--and her word would be in some sort his law. She could influence
him--not abruptly, not suddenly, but gradually, cleverly, cunningly.
She could use him for her great purpose. Thousands of men might be
happier, safer from hunger and misery, closer to a realization of their
hope, if she gave herself to this boy.... She was filled with
exaltation--a Joan of Arc listening to her Voices....
It was possible--possible.... And if it were possible, if she could
accomplish this great thing for the Cause, dared she avoid it? Was it
not a holy duty?
Remember her parentage, her training; remember that she had drawn into
her being enthusiasm, fanaticism with the air she breathed in the very
cradle. She was a revolutionist.... Greater crimes than loveless
marriages have been committed in the name of Enthusiasm for a Cause.
She hesitated. What should she say?.... She must think, for a new face
was upon the matter. She must think, and she must talk with Dulac.
Dulac was stronger than she--but he saw eye to eye with her. The things
she set up and worshiped in their shrines he worshiped more
fervently.... She must put the boy off with evasion. She must postpone
her answer until she was certain she saw her duty clearly.
Love of humanity in the mass was in her heart--it shouldered out
fairness to an individual man. She did not think of this. If she had
thought it might not have mattered, for if she were willing to immolate
herself would she not have been as ready to sacrifice one man--for the
good of thousands?
"I-" she began, and was dimly conscious of shame at her duplicity. "I
did not know you--wanted me this way.... Let me think. I can't
answer--to-night. Wait.... Give me time."
His voice was glad as he answered, and its gladness shamed her again.
"Wait.... I'd wait forever. But I don't want to wait forever.... It is
more than I hoped, more than I had the right to hope. I know I took you
by surprise.... Let me have time and the chance to make you love me--to
let you get used to the idea of my loving you. But try not to be long.
I'm impatient--you don't know how impatient...."
"I-I sha'n't be long," she said. "You mustn't build too many hopes...."
He laughed. She had never heard him laugh with such lightness, with
such a note of soul-gladness, before. "Hope.... I shall eat and drink
hope--until you--come to me. For you will come to me. I know it.... It
couldn't be any other way." He laughed again, gayly. And then from out
the blackness of the surrounding shrubbery there plunged the figure of
a man....
Before Bonbright could lift a hand to shield himself blows began to
fall, blows not delivered with the naked fist. Once, twice, again the
man struck with the strength of frenzy. Ruth sat silent, stunned,
paralyzed by fright, and uttered no scream. Then she saw the face of
Bonbright's assailant. It was Dulac--and she understood.
She sprang to him, clutched at his arm, but he hurled her off and
struck again.... It was enough. Bonbright stood wavering a moment,
struggling to remain upright, but sagging slowly. Then he slumped to
the ground in a sort of uncanny sitting posture, his head sunk upon his
knees.
Ruth stood looking down upon him with horror-widened eyes. Dulac hurled
his weapon into the bushes and turned upon her furiously, seizing her
arm and dragging her to him so that his eyes, glowing with unreason,
could burn into hers.
"Oh--" she moaned.
"I've taught him," Dulac said, his voice quivering with rage. "It was
time... the vermin. Because he was rich he thought he was safe. He
thought he could do anything.... But I've taught him. They starve us
and stamp on us--and then steal our wives and smirch our sweethearts."
Ruth tried to bend over Bonbright, to lift his head, to give him
assistance, but Dulac jerked her away.
"Don't touch him. Don't dare to touch him," he said.
"He doesn't--move," she said, in a horrified whisper. "Maybe
you've-killed him."
"He deserved it.... And you--have you anything to say? What are you
doing here--with him?"
"Let me go," she panted. "Let me see--I must see. He can't be--dead.
... You--you BEAST!" she cried, shrilly. "He was good. He meant no
harm.... He loved me, and that's why this happened. It's my fault--my
fault."
"Be still," he commanded. "He loved you--you admit it. You dare admit
it--and you here alone with him at night."
"He asked--me--to--marry--him," she said, faintly. "He was not--what
you think.... He was a good--boy."
Suddenly she tried to break from him to go to Bonbright, but he
clutched her savagely. "Help!... Help!..." she cried. Then his hand
closed over her mouth and he gathered her up in his arms and carried
her away.
He did not look behind at Bonbright huddled there with the ribbon of
moonlight pointing across the lake at his limp body, but half
staggered, half ran to his waiting car.... A snarled word, and the
engine started. Ruth, choking, helpless, was carried away, leaving
Bonbright alone and still....