“No. ...  I’m going to work.  I’m going to find a place and work. ...”

“But—­” Hilda wondered what Bonbright would think of that.  She imagined he would not like it.

“I know what you were going to say.  He wouldn’t want me to.  Maybe he wouldn’t—­but if he knew he’d let me do it.  I tell you I’ve got to, Hilda.”

“You’ve got to decide for yourself,” Hilda admitted, so Ruth became a job hunter, and because intelligent stenographers are by no means as plentiful as daisies in a July field, she was not long in finding employment. ...  From that day life was easier.  She found her wages were ample to support herself and pay the rent of her apartment.  Ample, in that they sufficed.  There was no surplus.  So she folded and put away the weekly checks she received from Bonbright.  She did not send them back to him because, to her mind, that would have been a weekly slap in his face.  But she would not cash them.  There was a difference to her; probably there was a real difference.

Of a Sunday Ruth often went driving with Hilda, and Hilda noticed how closely her companion watched the sidewalks, how she scrutinized the passing crowds.  It was as though Ruth were trying to catch sight of somebody. ...  While daylight lasted Hilda saw that Ruth was drawn to her windows to sit looking down at the street.  Once Hilda ventured dangerously.

“Why do you always sit there watching folks go by?” she asked.

Ruth turned and looked at her strangely.  “I—­why, I don’t know,” she said.

Of herself Ruth rarely mentioned Bonbright; never unless in some recollection of him, or if Hilda meddled with some portion of the household that had been peculiarly Bonbright’s.  As, for instance: 

“Why don’t you move that leather chair out of the other bedroom?” Hilda asked.  “It’s doing no good there and it looks mighty comfortable.”

“That was his chair,” Ruth said, quickly.  “He used to sit there and read after—­after I had gone to bed.”

Once Ruth asked for news of Bonbright.  After that Hilda brought her news voluntarily.  Not too frequently, but often enough according to her notion.  Betweentimes she gave Ruth plenty of time to wonder what was happening to her husband.  Ruth knew Hilda saw him often.  She wondered if they talked about her, and what they said, but that she never asked, nor did Hilda refer to such conversations.  Indeed, these were few and sparing, for Bonbright could not be made to talk about his wife—­even to her.  But she gave Bonbright news of Ruth just as she gave Ruth news of Bonbright.

Sometimes Hilda tormented Ruth with set purpose.

“Bonbright looks mighty thin,” she said.  “I think he’s working too hard.  If he keeps it up he’ll make himself sick.”

“Oh...” said Ruth—­nothing more, but for the rest of that Sunday she was quiet—­very quiet.

Once Hilda found Ruth in a passion of tears, and when she sought the reason she learned that Ruth had met Dulac on the street, face to face, and that he had spoken to her.  He had told Ruth that he was staying in the city because of her; that he would not go without her. ...  He had been careless of listening ears, not concealing his emotions.