Mrs. Frazer dabbed at her eyes with her apron and signified her firm belief that capital was banded together for the sole purpose of causing her mental agony; indeed, that capital had been invented with that end in view, and if she had her way—which seldom enough, and her never doing a wrong to a living body—capital should have visited on it certain plagues and punishments hinted at as adequate, but not named. Whereupon she got up from the table and went out into the kitchen after the pie.
"Mrs. Frazer," said Dulac, when she returned, "I've got to hurry downtown to headquarters, but I want to have a little talk with Ruth before I go. Can't the dishes wait?"
"I did up dishes alone before Ruth was born, and a few thousand times since. Guess I can get through with it without her help at least once more."
Dulac smiled, so that his white, even teeth showed in a foreign sort of way. In that moment Ruth thought there was something Oriental or Latin about his appearance—surely something exotic. He had a power of fascination, and its spell was upon her.
He stood up and walked to the door of the little parlor, where he stood waiting. Ruth, not blushing, but pale, afraid, yet eager to hear what she knew he was going to say, passed him into the room. He closed the door.
"You know what I want to say," he began, approaching close to her, but not touching her. "You know what life will be like with a man whose work is what mine is…. But I'd try to make up for the hardships and the worries and the disagreeable things. I'd try, Ruth, and I think I could do it…. Your heart is with the Cause. I wouldn't marry you if it wasn't because you couldn't stand the life. But you want to see what I want to see…. If I'm willing to run the risks and live the life I have to live because I see how I can help along the work and make the world a better place for those to live in who need to have it a better place… if I can do what I do, I've thought you might be willing to share it all…. You're brave. You come of a blood that has suffered and been willing to suffer. Your father was a martyr—just as I would be willing to be a martyr…."
Somehow the thing did not seem so much like a proposal of marriage as like a bit of flamboyant oratory. The theatrical air of the man, his self-consciousness—with the saving leaven of unquestionable sincerity—made it more an exhortation from the platform. Even in his intimate moments Dulac did not step out of character…. But this was not apparent to Ruth. Glamour was upon her, blinding her. The personality of the man dominated her personality. She saw him as he saw himself…. And his Cause was her Cause. If he would have suffered martyrdom for it, so would she. She raised her eyes to his and, looking into them, saw a soul greater than his soul, loftier than his soul. She was an apostle, and her heart throbbed with pride and joy that this man of high, self-sacrificing purpose should desire her…. She was ready to surrender; her decision was made. Standing under his blazing eyes, in the circle of his magnetism, she was sure she loved him.
But the surrender was not to be made then. Her mother rapped on the door.
"Young gentleman to see you, Ruth," she called.
She heard Dulac's teeth click savagely. "Quick," he said. "What is it to be?"