“She married you to use you. ... Not even for your money. She married you because her heart was with the men your kind is grinding down. ... She saw you were the kind of man a woman could twist around her finger—and you owned five thousand men. ... Get the idea?... She was going to do things for them—with you. You were nothing but a button she would push. So she married you—and you cheated her. ... So she’s done with you. You can’t give what she paid for, and she’s going away with me. ... She loves me. She was promised to marry me—when she saw what she could do with you—and I let her go. ... If she could give, so could I. ... But I loved her and she loved me—and we’re going away.”
It was true. Bonbright knew it was true, but he would not admit his belief until he had confirmation from his wife’s lips.
“Is this true?” he asked, quietly.
She was shaking with sobs, crouching against the wall.
“Don’t be afraid,” Bonbright said again, in a strange, quiet, courteous voice. “Is it true?”
“Yes,” she whispered, for she could not lie with his eyes upon her.
“I knew there was—something,” he said, with a little halt in his voice. ... That was all. He did not look at Dulac, but stood looking at her for a moment steadily, almost with grave inquiry. ... She looked from him to Dulac. Subconsciously she compared them. ... Bonbright did not speak again, but turned slowly and walked steadily out of the room. ... Ruth heard the outer door close behind him and knew he was gone. ... Gone!
Dulac laughed shortly. “That settled him,” he said. “Now you’ll come.”
She stood regarding him as she might have regarded some strangely endowed person she had never seen before. Then with a sudden, passionate vehemence she burst out upon him:
“Never. ... Never. ... I’ll never go with you. I’m his wife—his wife. ... Oh, what have you done?... I hate you—I hate you! Don’t ever dare—come near me again. ... I hate you. ...”
She turned and fled to her room and locked the door. Though he knocked and called, though he pleaded and threatened, she made no reply, but sat dry-eyed, on her bed, until she heard him go away raging. ...
Hilda Lightener’s electric stopped before the apartment house where Bonbright Foote lived, and Hilda alighted. She ignored bell and speaking tube and ran upstairs to Bonbright’s door, on which she knocked as a warning. Then she opened the door and called: “It’s me. Anybody home?”
Nobody replied. She called again, and walked into the little living room where Ruth and Bonbright and Dulac had faced one another an hour before. ... She called again. This time she heard a sound, muffled, indistinct, but recognizable as a sob.
“Ruth!” she called, and went to the bedroom door. Now she could hear Ruth within, sobbing alarmingly.