"She—didn't like my marrying you. Of course we knew neither of them would like it, but I didn't think anything like this would happen. …You know father and I had a fuss the other day, and I left the office. I had thought things over, and was going back. It seemed as if I ought to go back—as if that was the thing to do…. Well, mother said things that made it impossible. I'm through with them for good. The Family and the Ancestors can go hang." His voice grew angry as recollection of that scene presented itself. "Mother said I shouldn't marry you…"
"You—you don't mean you're not going to—to have anything to do with
Bonbright Foote, Incorporated—and all those thousands of men?"
"That's it….I couldn't do anything else. I had to break with them. Father was bad, but it was mother….She said she would never receive you or recognize you as my wife—and that sort of thing—and I left. I'm never going back…. On your account I'm sorry. I can't give you so much, and I can't do the things for you that I could…. We'll be quite poor, but I've got a job. Mr. Lightener gave me a job, and I've got to go to work in the morning. That's why we can't go away…."
"You mean," she said, dully, trying to sense this calamity, "that you will never go back? Never own—that—business?"
"It was a choice of giving you up or that. Mother made that clear. If I married you I should never have anything from them…."
She did not see the happiness that might lie for her in the possession of a husband whose love was so great that he could give up the kingdoms of the earth for her. She could not see the strength of the boy, his loyalty, his honor. All she saw was the crushing of her plan before it began to germinate…. She had given herself for the Cause. She was here, this young man's wife, alone in these rooms with him, because she loved the Cause and had martyred herself for it…. Her influence was to ameliorate the conditions of thousands of the Bonbright Foote laborers; she was to usher in a new era for them—and for that she had offered herself up…. And now, having bound herself forever to this boy that she did not love—loving another man—the possibility of achievement was snatched from her and her immolation made futile. It was as if she plunged into a rapids, offering her life to save a child that struggled there, to find, when she reached the little body, and it was too late to save herself, that it was a wax figure from some shop window…. But her position was worse than that; what she faced was worse than swift, merciful death…. It was years of a life of horrid possibilities, tied to a man whose chattel she was. She stood up and clutched his arm.
"You're joking," she said, in a tense, metallic voice.
"I'm sorry, dear. It's very true."
"Oh!" Her voice was a wail. "It can't be—it can't be. I couldn't bear that—not THAT…."
Bonbright seized her by the arms and peered into her face. "Ruth," he said, "what do you mean? Was THAT why you married me? You're not like those women I've heard about who married—for MONEY."