Ruth sat and listened to her friend; on her face the perturbed look of the good woman genuinely determined to do what is right and honestly puzzled as to her course.
"Don't you love him, Ruth?" asked the other. "Is that the trouble?"
The young woman was deeply moved.
"I've left my heart behind me," she said. "I shall never love a man again—not like that. All that's left of me has gone to the child."
"Ruth," said the elder woman, "d'you know that most of the successful marriages I know are based on friendship? It's very few who pull off the Big Thing. And those that do often come to grief. They expect too much, and are disappointed."
She found herself, as always, talking to Ruth as she would have done to a girl of her own kind. There was no sense of class or caste between the two. They met simply on the ground of common humanity.
"Aye, I could be his friend," said Ruth slowly. "And more than his friend. There's none like Ernie. I'd give him all I got to give. That's a sure thing. I'd be that grateful to him and all."
"And there's little Alice," continued Mrs. Trupp.
"That's just it," cried Ruth passionately. "It's little Alice is all I think on. It's that makes me afear'd—lest I should be unfair to Ernie. See, I do love Ernie. You ca'an't help it. He's that good and unselfish. And I wouldn't hurt him for all the world—not if it was ever so."
"He's the kind of man who needs a woman to help him along the way," said Mrs. Trupp.