Ruth Frazer had passed her twentieth birthday, and now, for the first time, she was asking herself that question which brings tearful uncertainty, vague fears, disquieting speculations to the great majority of women—­should she give herself, body and soul, into the hands of a definite man?  It was the definiteness, the identification of the man, that caused all her difficulty.  All women expect to be chosen by, and to choose, some man; but when he arrives in actual flesh and blood—­that is quite another matter.  Some, perhaps many, have no doubts.  Love has come to them unmistakably.  But not so with most.  It is a thing to be wept over, and prayed over, and considered with many changes of mind, until final decision is made one way or the other.

Dulac had been interrupted in what Ruth knew would have been a proposal of marriage; the scene would be resumed, and when it was what answer should she give?

It is no easy task for a girl of twenty to lay her heart under the microscope and to see if the emotion which agitates it is love, or admiration, or the excitation of glamour.  She has heard of love, has read of love, has dreamed of love, possibly, but has never experienced love.  How, then, is she to recognize it?  With Ruth there had been no long acquaintanceship with this man who came asking her future of her.  There had been no months or years of service and companionship.  Instead, he had burst on her vision, had dazzled her with his presence and his mission.  Hers was a steady little head, and one capable of facing the logic of a situation.  Was her feeling toward Dulac merely hero worship?

The cause he represented was dear to her heart, and he was an eminent servant in that cause.  It thrilled her to know that such a man as he could want her for his wife.  It quite took her breath away.  Present also was the feeling that if Dulac wanted her, if she could bring happiness, ease, help to him, it would be her duty to give herself.  By so doing she would contribute her all to the cause. ...  Behind that thought were generations of men and women who had sacrificed and suffered for labor.  If her father had given his life, would he not expect his daughter to give her life?  If she could make Dulac stronger to carry on his work for social revolution, had she a right to withhold herself? ...

But, being a girl, with youth singing in her heart, it was impossible that anything should take precedence of love.  That was the great question.  Did she love? ...  At noon she was sure she did; at one o’clock she was sure she did not; at two o’clock she was wavering between the two decisions; at six o’clock she had passed through all these stages half a dozen times, and was no nearer certainty.