“Well, he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No,” said Ruth.

“You weren’t afraid of him?”

“No.”

“You—­didn’t want to go away with him?”

“No. ...  No. ...”

“Then what are you making all the fuss about?  He can’t carry you off”

’He might have seen us together,” said Ruth.  “And—­and it made me—­ remember—­that horrid afternoon.”

“What if Bonbright did see you together?  Don’t you suppose Bonbright thinks you are seeing him?  Of course he does.  What else would he think?  Naturally he supposes you are going to have your divorce when the year is up, and marry Mr. Dulac.”  Hilda was merciless.

“Does he think that?  Are you sure?”

Hilda shrugged her shoulders.

“He mustn’t think it,” Ruth said, affrightedly.  “Why, he—­If he thought that—­”

“If he thought that—­what?”

Ruth bit her lips and turned away.  “Nothing,” she said.  Then:  “Can’t you let him know?...  Not tell him, you know, but—­sort of let him understand.”

“If I can see a good chance,” Hilda said; but in her mind was the resolution that she would never see the chance.

“Does he—­seem cheerful?” Ruth asked.  “It’s been quite a long time now—­months. ...  He—­must have gotten over—­caring for me now.  Do you think so?” Her voice was anxious, pleading.

Hilda could not hold out against that appeal.  “No, silly, he hasn’t.  He isn’t that sort. ...  It’s too bad.”

“Yes—­it’s too bad,” said Ruth, but it was not sympathy that put the tiny thrill into her voice.

“He’s just a boy. ...  He can’t go on all his life loving a girl that doesn’t want him.  Some day he’s going to fall in love again.  It’s natural he should.”

“Has he—­Do you think—­”

“No, I haven’t seen any signs of it yet. ...  And I’d be jealous if he did.  I think I could manage to fall in love with him myself if—­”

“—­he wasn’t tied to me,” interrupted Ruth, with a little whimper.  “I—­I wish he knew—­about Mr. Dulac. ...  He wouldn’t think so—­hard of me, maybe... if he knew I didn’t—­never did—­love Mr. Dulac. ...”

“The only thing that would make any difference to him would be to know that you loved him,” said Hilda.

Ruth had no answer, but she was saying to herself, with a sort of secret surprise:  “If I loved him. ...  If I loved him. ...”  Presently she spoke aloud:  “You won’t be angry with me, Hilda?...  You won’t misunderstand, but—­but won’t yop please—­go away?...  Please. ...  I—­ I don’t want to see anybody.  I want to be alone.”

“Well, of all things!” said Hilda.  But she was not offended.  Her resemblance to her father was very faint indeed, at that moment.  She looked more like her mother, softer, more motherly.  She put on her hat and went away quietly.  “Poor Bonbright!” she was thinking.  Then:  “It’s come to her. ...  She’s got a hint of it.  It will come now with a rush. ...”