Bonbright scarcely tasted the food that was brought him on a tray at six o’clock.  He was afire with eagerness, for the hour was almost there when he could go to Ruth for her answer.  He arose, somewhat dizzily, and demanded his hat, which was given him with protests.  It was still too early to make his call, but he could not stay away from the neighborhood, so he took a taxicab to Ruth’s corner, and there alighted.  For half an hour he paced slowly up and down, eying the house, picturing in his mind Ruth in the act of accepting him or Ruth in the act of refusing him.  One moment hope flashed high; the next it was quenched by doubt. ...  He saw Dulac leave the house; waited another half hour, and then rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Frazer opened the door.

“Evening, Mr. Foote,” she said, without enthusiasm, for she had not approved of this young man’s calls upon her daughter.

“Miss Frazer is expecting me,” he said, diffidently, for he was sensitive to her antagonism.

“In the parlor,” said she, “and no help with the dishes, which is to be expected at her age, with first one young man and then another, which, if she gets any pleasure out of it, I’m not one to deny her, though not consulted.  If I was starting over again I’d wish it was a son to be traipsing after some other woman’s daughter and not a daughter to have other women’s sons traipsing after. ...  That door, Mr. Foote.  Go right in.”

Bonbright entered apprehensively, as one might enter a court room where a jury was about to rise and declare its verdict of guilty or not guilty.  He closed the door after him mechanically.

“Ruth...” he said.

Her face, marked with tears, not untouched by suffering, startled him.  “Are you—­ill?” he said.

“Just—­just tired” she said.

“Shall I go?...  Shall I come again to-morrow?”

“No.”  She was aware of his concern, of the self-effacing thoughtfulness of his offer.  He was a good boy, decent and kind.  He deserved better than he was getting. ...  She bit her lips and vowed that, giving no love, she would make him happy.  She must make him happy.

“You know why I’ve come, Ruth,” he said.  “It has seemed a long time to wait—­since last night.  You know why I’ve come?”

“Yes.”

“You have—­thought about me?”

“Yes.”

He stepped forward eagerly.  “You look so unhappy, so tired.  It hasn’t been worrying you like this?  I couldn’t bear to think it had. ...  I—­ I don’t want you ever worried or tired, but always—­glad. ...  I’ve been walking up and down outside for an hour.  Couldn’t stay away. ...  Ruth, you haven’t been out of my mind since last night—­since yesterday morning.  I’ve had time to think about you. ...  I’m beginning to realize how much you mean to me.  I’ll never realize it fully—­but it will come to me more every day, and every day I shall love you more than I did the day before—­if your answer can be yes. ...”  He turned away his head and said, “I’m afraid to ask. ...”