"I—I have heard your story, dear. Ralph Drew is such a kind gentleman, and he—we, all of us—pity you from the bottom of our hearts. Believe me, you are doing the right thing, hard and cruel as it may seem now. When God sets you free—then alone can you really be free. I think every good woman knows this. Man can only give freedom within limitations. I know I am right. Have you heard from—your husband?"
"Yes. He has sent for me."
"Have you any message to leave? I will tell Mr. Drew anything you care to entrust to me—he will deliver the message to—any one."
"Please—sit down." Joyce motioned stiffly to a chair across the table. "I have a great deal to say to you."
Ruth obeyed with a dull foreboding in her heart. She felt constrained and awkward. The unusual and expensive gown Joyce wore acted as an irritant upon her, now that she considered it. It seemed so vulgar, so theatrical for the girl to deck herself in this fashion; and the very gown itself spoke volumes against any such lofty ideals as Ralph Drew had depicted in the woman. Evidently Joyce was expecting Gaston back; the statement as to her going to her husband was either false, or a subterfuge.
With Ruth Dale's discomfort, too, was mingled a fear that Gaston might return and find her there. From Drew's description of Gaston she knew he was a person above the ordinary St. Angé type, and might naturally, and rightly, resent her visit. But Joyce, more mistress of the situation than the other knew, was feeling her way through the densest thicket of trouble that had ever surrounded her. Here was her chance, in woman-fashion, to test that strange double code of honour about which Gaston had spoken, and Drew had hinted. Here, woman to woman, she could question and probe, and so have clearer vision.
This woman visitor was from his world. She was kind and was, perhaps, the best that existed down beyond the Southern Solitude. If she bore the test, then Joyce would relinquish her rights absolutely—but only after that woman knew why she did so.
"I—I suppose you think I have been a very bad woman?" Joyce turned sad, yet childlike eyes upon her companion.
"I think you have acted unwisely." Ruth Dale crimsoned under the steady glance. "You see, Mr. Drew has always had a deep interest in you. His sister and I heard about you long before we came up here. He says you had grave provocation. What you have done was done—in ignorance. It would only be sin—after you knew the difference."
"I see. But what—what would you think about Mr. Gaston?"