Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. His friendship seemed a thing worth having. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. He resolved to judge for himself. The general propositions of Socialism, for example, struck her as admirable, but she certainly did not extend her admiration to any of its exponents.
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