Forces too strong for her were at work. Her grand attack,
the bringing of these two together that Ruth might confront Kirk in his
guilt, had recoiled upon her. The Old Guard had made their charge up
the hill, and it had failed. Victory had become a rout. With one speech
Steve had destroyed her whole plan of campaign.
She knew it was all over, that in another moment if she remained, she
would be compelled to witness the humiliating spectacle of Ruth in
Kirk's arms, stammering the words which intuition told her were even
now trembling on her lips. She knew Ruth. She could read her like a
primer. And her knowledge told her that she was about to capitulate,
that all her pride and resentment had been swept away, that she had
gone over to the enemy.
Elemental passions were warring against Lora Delane Porter, and she
bowed before them.
"Mr. Winfield," she said sharply, her voice cutting the silence like a
knife, "I beg your pardon. I seem to have made a mistake. Good night."
Kirk did not answer.
"Good night, Ruth."
Ruth made no sign that she had heard.
Mrs. Porter, grand in defeat, moved slowly to the door.
But even in the greatest women there is that germ of feminine curiosity
which cannot be wholly eliminated, that little grain of dust that
asserts itself and clogs the machinery. It had been Mrs.
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