[Geoffrey and Ruth enter through the double doors quickly at back. Geoffrey is a young, good-looking man, but with a weak face. He is of course very smartly dressed. Ruth is a very serenely beautiful girl, rather noble in type, but unconscious and unpretending in manner. They close the doors quickly behind them.
Geoffrey. We'll not be interrupted here, and I must have a few words with you before you go.
[He follows her to the sofa where she sits, and leans over it, with his arm about her shoulder.
Ruth. Oh, Geof,—Geof, why weren't we married like this?
Geoffrey. It couldn't be helped, darling!
Ruth. It isn't the big wedding I miss, oh, no, it's only it seemed sweeter in a church. Why did we have to steal off to Brooklyn, to that poor, strange little preacher in his stuffy back parlour, and behave as if we were doing something of which we were ashamed?
Geoffrey. You love me, I love you,—isn't that the chief thing, dearest?
Ruth. But how much longer must we keep it secret?
Geoffrey. Till I can straighten my affairs out. I can't explain it all to you; there are terrible debts,—one more than all the others,—a debt I made when I was in college.
Ruth. If I could only help you! I have a little money.