“They say she’s going to marry young Foote.  The Foote company makes axles for us,” said Ruth’s neighbor, and after that Ruth became more interested in Hilda.

She liked Bonbright Foote and was sorry for him.  Admitting the unwisdom of his calls upon her, she had not the heart to forbid him, especially that he had shown no signs of sentiment, or of stepping beyond the boundary lines of simple friendship. ...  She saw to it that he and Dulac did not meet.

As for Dulac—­she had disciplined him for his outbreak as was the duty of a self-respecting young woman, and had made him eat his piece of humble pie.  It had not affected her veneration for his work, nor her admiration for the man and his sincerity and his ability. ...  She had answered his question, and the answer had been yes, for she had come to believe that she loved him. ...

She saw how tired he was looking.  She perceived the discouragements that weighed on him, and saw, as he refused to see, that the strike was a failure in spite of his efforts.  And she was sensible.  The strike had failed; nothing was to be gained by sustaining the ebbing remnants of it, by making men and women and children suffer futilely. ...  She would have ended it and begun straight-way preparing a strike that would not fail.  But she did not say so to him.  He had to fight.  She saw that.  She saw, too, that it was not in him to admit defeat or to surrender.  It would be necessary to crush him first.

And then, at five o’clock, as she came out of the office she found Bonbright Foote waiting for her in his car.  It had never happened before.

“I—­I came for you,” he said, awkwardly, yet with something of tenseness in his voice.

“You shouldn’t,” she said, not unkindly.  He would understand the reasons.

“I had to,” he said.  “I—­all day I’ve done nothing but wait to see you.  I’ve got to talk to you. ...  Please, now that I’m here, won’t you get in?”

She saw that something was wrong, that something out of the ordinary had happened, and as she stepped into the car she shot a glance at his set face and felt a wave of sympathy for him.

“I want you to—­to have something to eat with me—­out in the country.  I want to get away from town.  Let me send a messenger to your mother.  I know you don’t want to, and—­and all that, but you’ll come, won’t you?”

Ruth considered.  There was much to consider, but she knew he was an honest, wholesome boy—­and he was in trouble.

“This once,” she said, and let him see her grin.

“Thank you,” he said, simply.

It was but a short drive to an A. D. T. office, where Bonbright wrote a message to Mrs. Frazer: 

I’m taking your daughter to Apple Lake to dinner.  I hope you won’t mind.  And I promise to have her home safe and early.

A boy was dispatched with this, and Bonbright and Ruth drove out the Avenue with the evening sun in their faces, toward distant, beautiful Apple Lake.  Bonbright drove in silence, his eyes on the road.  Ruth was alone in her appreciation of the loveliness of the waning day.