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. Ange 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?" 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.