"No," she said.
"Ruth—I need you—now…." This man, who had wooed her boldly, had demanded her masterfully, now was brought to pleading. He needed her. It was plain that he did need her, and, realizing it, she saw the danger of it. It was a new, a subtle attack, and it had taken her unawares.
"I can't…. I can't…. I mustn't…" she said, breathlessly.
"I must have you," he said, with dead simplicity, as one states a bare, essential fact. Then Bonbright was visualized before him, and rage flooded once more. "He sha'n't keep you!… You're mine—you were mine first…. What is he to you? I'm going to take you away from him…. I can do THAT…."
He was less dangerous so. Perhaps instinct told him, for his passion stilled itself, and he became tired, pitiful again.
"We've got a right to be happy," he said, in his tired voice. "You're not happy—and I'm—beaten…. I want you—I need you…. You'll come with me. You've got to come with me."
She was moved, swayed. He needed her…. She had cheated Bonbright in the beginning. She was not his wife…. He had none of her love, and she believed this man had it wholly…. She had wronged Bonbright all she could wrong him—what would this matter? It was not this that was wrong, but the other—the marrying without love…. And she, too, was beaten. She had played her game and lost, not going down to defeat fighting as Dulac had gone down, but futilely, helplessly. She had given herself for the Cause—to no profit…. And her heart yearned for peace, for release.
"I'm his wife," she said, still struggling flutteringly.
"You're MY wife." He lifted his arms toward her, and she swayed, took a step toward him—a step toward the precipice. Suddenly she stopped, eyes startled, a deeper pallor blighting her face—for she heard Bonbright's step on the stairs…. She had forgotten the lateness of the hour.
"Oh'." she said.