Extricating the cartridges, she put the revolver away in a drawer of the writing-table and locked it up. Then she drew a chair forward and sat down, facing the man whose life she had just saved, the man she loved. It was a long time before either of them spoke. Rupert Dale had meant to kill himself. Ruby had arrived at the critical moment. Thirty seconds more and she would have been too late. The crisis had passed now, but the shock had left the woman unnerved and weak. Rupert merely felt vaguely surprised that he was still alive. The idea of suicide was horrible to him because normally he was a healthy, sane young man, but the news of his failure for the third time in his final examination, coming upon the victory and subsequent disqualification of Paulus, had made him see the hopelessness of his position. It was a lightning flash; illuminating the horizon of Hope. The instant’s flash had shown him himself, his career ruined before it had started, and his father beggared—not merely of his home and his money, but of his dreams: of all that was left him. Ruby watching him, holding his cold hand in hers, saw what was passing, and what had passed, in his mind. Of a sudden she felt her responsibility. She had never considered the word before in her life. She understood it now because she loved. Rupert was the first to speak. "It’s no use, old girl; it’s the only way out—the only way." She shook her head. "A coward’s way." Rupert gave a dry laugh. "I’m not afraid to live, not afraid to face the music; not afraid to take off my coat and work in the gutters, if need be. But I’ve ruined and disgraced my father. The shame will fall on him. I’m his only son, and he was going to turn me into a gentleman. Well, when a gentleman has done a shameful thing, a thing that prevents him from meeting his friends, his relatives, he just goes out ... as I’m going.... They’ll get on better without me, father and Marjorie." Ruby’s hands tightened their grip. She had aged in an hour; changed. The little, light actress had become merged, as it were, in the woman. Mother instinct had taken the place of the lover instinct. She was fighting for the life of some other woman’s son, and for the moment he was her son. "You can’t do it!" "My mind is made up." Ruby closed her eyes for a moment. He spoke quietly and calmly. She knew it had not been a sudden resolve, but that his mind had been made up. There was a long silence between them. Outside the newsboys still shouted the sensational result. At last Ruby rose. She crossed the room and stood with her back to Rupert for a little while. When she turned she was smiling, and she looked more like her old self—as if she had not a care in the world. "Rupert," she whispered, and her voice, though a little unsteady, had a glad ring in it.