The colour died from Ruth's face, only to return more vivid.
"I think he has treated you—shamefully. He knew how such things are viewed. He took advantage of your weakness and innocence. I hate to say this to you—but I have no two opinions about such things. I think this Mr. Gaston must be a very wicked man."
A sudden resolve had sprung up in Ruth's mind. If she could rescue this poor, ignorant girl from the toils of the man who had misled her, she would befriend her. She might even save her from the depraved husband who was now her only apparent safety. The girl was lovely beyond expression. It would be a splendid thing to do.
With this in sight, her interference took on an appearance of dignified philanthropy.
"Will you let me help you?" she asked wistfully; "be your friend? I have money; I would love to do what I can. I have deep sympathy with you and—I am very lonely and sad myself. I have recently lost my husband—I have no one."
Joyce continued to hold her visitor with that solemn, intense glance.
"You loved your—husband—very much?" Ruth winced. She could hardly resent the curiosity, but she stiffened.
"Of course. But if I had not, I should have been—lonely and sad. It is a relationship that cannot be dissolved either by death or in any way without causing pain and a deep sense of loss."
"Oh, yes, it can." Joyce spoke rapidly. "The loss may mean—life to you. It may take fear away and a hideous loathing. It may let you be yourself, the self that can breathe and learn to love goodness."
This outburst surprised and confused Ruth Dale. The expression of face, voice and language swept away the sense of unreality and detachment. Here was a vital trouble. A tangible human call. It might be that she, instead of Ralph Drew or Constance, or any other person, might touch and rescue this girl who was finding herself among the ruins of her life.