“Dulac,” said Bonbright, “here’s the truth:  I took Miss Frazer to the lake to—­ask her to—­marry me. ...  No other reason.  She was—­safe with me—­as with you.  I want her for—­my wife.  Do you understand? ...  You thought—­what my father thought.”

Ruth uttered a little cry.  So that was what had happened!

“All the decency in the world,” Bonbright said, “isn’t in—­union men, workingmen. ...  Because I have more money than you—­you want to believe—­anything of me. ...  You’re even willing to—­believe it of her. ...  I can—­love as well as if I were poor. ...  I can—­honor and respect the girl I want to marry as well as if I—­carried a union card. ...  That is true.”

Dulac laughed shortly; then, even in his rage, he became oratorical, theatrical.

“We know the honor and respect of your kind. ...  We know what our sisters and daughters have to expect from you.  We’ve learned it.  You talk fair—­you dangle your filthy money under their eyes—­you promise this and you promise that. ...  And then you throw away your toys. ...  They come back to us covered with disgrace, heart-broken, marked forever, and fit to be no man’s wife. ...  That’s your respect and honor.  That’s your decency. ...  Leave our women alone. ...  Go to your bridge-playing, silly, husband-swapping society women.  They know you.  They know what to expect from you—­and get what they deserve.  Leave our women alone. ...  Leave this girl alone.  We men have to endure enough at your hands, but we won’t endure this. ...  We’ll do as I did to-night.  I thrashed you—­”

“Like a coward, in the dark, from behind,” said Bonbright, boyish pride insisting upon offering its excuse.  “I didn’t stop you to argue about capital and labor.  I stopped you—­to tell you the truth about to-night.  I’ve told it.”

“You’ve lied the way your kind always lies.”

Bonbright’s lips straightened, his eyes hardened, and he leaned forward.  “I promised Miss Frazer nothing—­should happen.  It sha’n’t. ...  But you’re a fool, Dulac.  You know I’m telling the truth—­but you won’t admit it—­because you don’t want to.  Because I’m not on your side, you won’t admit it. ...  And that makes you a fool. ...  Be still.  You haven’t hesitated to tell me I lied.  I’ve taken that—­and you’ll take what I have to say.  It isn’t much.  I don’t know much about the—­differences between your kind and my kind. ...  But your side gets more harm than good from men like you.  You’re a blind fanatic.  You cram your men on lies and stir them up to hate us. ...  Maybe there’s cause, but you magnify it. ...  You won’t see the truth.  You won’t see reason. ...  You hold us apart.  Maybe you’re honest—­ fanatics usually are, but fanatics are fools.  It does no good to tell you so.  I’m wasting my breath. ...  Now take Miss Frazer home—­and be careful how you treat her.”

He turned his back squarely and pulled himself into his car.  Then he turned to Ruth.  “Good night, Miss Frazer,” he said.  “I am sorry—­for all this. ...  May I come for—­your answer to-morrow?”