willing to run the risks and live the life I have to live because I see how I can help along the work and make the world a better place for those to live in who need to have it a better place ... if I can do what I do, I’ve thought you might be willing to share it all. ...  You’re brave.  You come of a blood that has suffered and been willing to suffer.  Your father was a martyr—­just as I would be willing to be a martyr. ...”

Somehow the thing did not seem so much like a proposal of marriage as like a bit of flamboyant oratory.  The theatrical air of the man, his self-consciousness—­with the saving leaven of unquestionable sincerity—­made it more an exhortation from the platform.  Even in his intimate moments Dulac did not step out of character. ...  But this was not apparent to Ruth.  Glamour was upon her, blinding her.  The personality of the man dominated her personality.  She saw him as he saw himself. ...  And his Cause was her Cause.  If he would have suffered martyrdom for it, so would she.  She raised her eyes to his and, looking into them, saw a soul greater than his soul, loftier than his soul.  She was an apostle, and her heart throbbed with pride and joy that this man of high, self-sacrificing purpose should desire her. ...  She was ready to surrender; her decision was made.  Standing under his blazing eyes, in the circle of his magnetism, she was sure she loved him.

But the surrender was not to be made then.  Her mother rapped on the door.

“Young gentleman to see you, Ruth,” she called.

She heard Dulac’s teeth click savagely.  “Quick,” he said.  “What is it to be?”

The spell was broken, the old uncertainty, the wavering, was present again.  “I—­oh, let me think.  To-morrow—­I’ll tell you to-morrow.”

She stepped—­it was almost a flight—­to the door, and opened it.  In the dining room, hat in hand, stood Bonbright Foote.  Dulac saw, too.

“What does he want here?” he demanded, savagely.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll find out.  It’s no good to you he intends.”

“Mr. Dulac!” she said, and faced him a moment.  He stopped, furious though he was.  She stopped him.  She held him. ...  There was a strength in her that he had not realized.  Her utterance of his name was a command and a rebuke.

“I know his kind,” Dulac said, sullenly.  “Let me throw him out.”

“Please sit down,” she said.  “I want to bring him in here.  I know him better than you—­and I think your side misunderstands him.  It may do some good.”

She stepped into the dining room.  “Mr. Foote,” she said.

He was embarrassed, ill at ease.  “Miss Frazer,” he said, with boyish hesitation, “you don’t want to see me—­you have no reason to do anything but—­despise me, I guess.  But I had to come.  I found your address and came as quickly as I could.”

“Step in here,” she said.  Then, “You and Mr. Dulac have met.”

Dulac stood scowling.  “Yes,” he said, sullenly.  Bonbright flushed and nodded. ...  Dulac seemed suddenly possessed by a gust of passion.  He strode threateningly to Bonbright, lips snarling, eyes blazing.