William felt as if he would almost risk his hope of heaven for the chance of calling her his, and yet he had not the courage even to hint at what he felt. Her very daintiness and winsomeness seemed to widen the gulf between them. Who was he that he should dare make love to one who was fit for the best in the land? It seemed to him--so unworthy did he seem in his own eyes--utterly impossible that Ruth should ever care for a man of his type. William was almost morbidly self-depreciatory when in the presence of Ruth. His love so glorified her that by contrast he was commoner than commonest clay. "I was so sorry to hear you are to be turned out of your shop," Ruth said at length, taking a seat on the other side of the table. "Ralph told you?" he questioned. "We stayed up till quite late last night, talking about it," she replied. "Ralph is very indignant." "I am very indignant myself," he answered; "but what's the good? Those who have the power use it as they like." "I am sorry it has happened," she said gently; "sorry for all our sakes. Ralph's reverence for the ruling classes was not great before. It is less now." "You cannot wonder at that," he said quickly. "No, one cannot wonder. And yet there is a danger in judging the whole by a few. Besides, if we had real power, we might not use it any more wisely or justly. The best of people, after all, are only human." "That being so," he answered, with a smile, "it does not seem right that any individual, or any class of individuals, should have so much power. Who made these people rulers and dividers over us?" "Ah, now you are getting beyond me," she said; "but since things are as they are, should we not make the best of them?" "And try to mend them at the same time?" "Oh yes, by all means--that is, if we can." "But you have not much hope of mending things?" he questioned. "Not very much. Besides, if you levelled things up to-morrow, they would be levelled down again the day after." "Isn't that a rather fatalistic way of looking at things?" he questioned, raising his eyes timidly to her face. "Is it?" she questioned, and a soft blush swept over her face as she caught his glance. Then silence fell again for several moments. "The chances of life are very bewildering," he said at length, reopening the conversation. "Some people seem to get all the luck, and others all the misfortune. Look at my Cousin Sam." "Is he very unfortunate?" William laughed. "On the contrary, he has all the luck. He has never known what poverty means, or sickness, or hardship. He was born to affluence, and now, at twenty-six, he's his own master, with a house of his own and plenty of money." "But he may not be a whit happier than those who have less." "I don't see how he can help it," William answered. "He's never worried about ways and means. He has troops of friends, absolutely wants nothing except a wife to help him to spend his money."