Ruth seized Dulac’s arm.  “Go away,” she cried.  “You have no right. ...  If you ever want an answer—­to that question—­you’ll go now ...  If this goes on—­if you don’t go and leave Mr. Foote alone, I’ll never see you again. ...  I’ll never speak to you again. ...  I mean it!”

Dulac, looking down into her face, saw that she did mean it.  He shot one venomous glance at Bonbright, snatched his hat from the table, and rushed from the room.

Presently Ruth spoke.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

Bonbright smiled.  “It was too bad. ...  He believes what he says about me. ...”

“Yes, he believes it, and thousands of other men believe it. ...  They hate you.”

“Because I have lots of money and they have little.  Because I own a factory and they work in it. ...  There must be a great deal to it besides that. ...  But that isn’t what I came to say.  I—­it was about discharging you.”

“Yes,” she said.  “I knew it wasn’t you. ...  Your father made you.”

He flushed.  “You see ...  I’m not a real person.  I’m just something with push buttons.  When somebody wants a thing done he pushes one, and I do it. ...  I didn’t want you to go.  I—­Well, things aren’t exactly joyous for me in the plant.  I don’t fit—­and I’m being made to fit.”  His voice took on a tinge of bitterness.  “I’ve got to be something that the label ‘Bonbright Foote VII’ will fit. ...  It was on account of that smile of yours that I made them give you to me for my secretary.  The first time I saw you you smiled—­and it was mighty cheering.  It sort of lightened things up—­so I got you to do my work —­because I thought likely you would smile sometimes. ...”

Her eyes were downcast to hide the moisture that was in them.

“Father made me discharge you. ...  I couldn’t help it—­and you don’t know how ashamed it made me. ...  To know I was so helpless.  That’s what I came to say.  I wanted you to know—­on account of your smile.  I didn’t want you to think—­I did it willingly. ...  And—­sometimes it isn’t easy to get another position—­so—­so I went to see a man, Malcolm Lightener, and told him about you.  He manufactures automobiles—­and he’s—­he’s a better kind of man to work for than—­we were.  If you are willing you can—­go there in the morning.”

She showed him her smile now—­but it was not the broad, beaming grin; it was a dewy, tremulous smile.

“That was good of you,” she said, softly.

“I was just trying to be square,” he said.  “Will you take the place?  I should like to know.  I should like to know I’d helped to make things right.”

“Of course I shall take it,” she said.

“Thank you. ...  I—­shall miss you.  Really. ...  Good night, Miss Frazer—­and thank you.”

She pitied him from her heart.  His position was not a joyful one. ...  And, as people sometimes do, she spoke on impulse, not calculating possible complications.