“To yourself,” she said, quickly.

“To them—­and to the—­the future. ...  But I bucked them off once.  Maybe they’ll never ride so hard again, and maybe they’ll try to break me by riding harder. ...  Until to-day I never had a notion of fighting back—­but I’m going to give them a job of it now. ...  There are things I will do.  They sha’n’t always have their way.  Right now, Miss Frazer, I’ve broken with the whole thing.  They may be able to fetch me back.  I don’t know. ...  Sometime I’ll have to go.  When father’s through I’d have to go, anyhow—­to head the business.”

“Your father ought to change the name of the business to Family Ghosts, Incorporated,” she said, with an attempt to lighten his seriousness.

“I’ll be general manager—­responsible to a board of directors from across the Styx,” he said, with an approach to a smile.  “Here’s our waiter.  I telephoned our order.  Hope I’ve chosen to please you.”

“Indeed you have,” she replied.  “I feel quite the aristocrat.  I ought not to do this sort of thing. ...  But I’m glad to do it once.  I abhor the rich,” she said, laughing, “but some of the things they do and have are mighty pleasant.”

After a while she said:  “If I were a rich man’s wife I’d be something more than a society gadabout.  I’d insist on knowing his business ... and I’d make him do a lot of things for his workmen.  Think of being a woman and able to do so much for thousands of—­of my class,” she finished.

“Your class!” he said, sharply.

“I belong to the laboring class.  First, because I was born into it, and, second, because my heart is with it.”

“Class doesn’t touch you.  It doesn’t concern you.  You’re yourself.”  For the first time in her acquaintance with him he made her uneasy.  His eyes and the way he spoke those sentences disturbed her.

“Nonsense!” she said.

Neither spoke for some time.  It was growing dark now, and lights were glowing on the veranda.  “When we’re through,” Bonbright said, “let’s walk down by the lake.  There’s a bully walk and a place to sit. ...  I asked you to come because I wanted to take you there—­miles away from everybody. ...”

She was distinctly startled now, but helpless.  She read storm signals, but no harbor was at hand.

“We must be getting back,” she said, lamely.

“It’s not eight.  We can go back in an hour. ...  Shall we walk down now?  I can’t wait, Ruth, to say what I’ve got to say. ...”

It was impossible to hold back, futile to attempt escape.  She knew now why he had brought her and what he wanted to say, but she could not prevent it. ...  If he must have his say let it be where he desired.  Very grave now, unhappy, her joy marred, she walked down the steps by his side and along the shore of the lake.  “Here,” he said, presently, drawing her into a nook occupied by a bench.  She sat down obediently.