Rose took a deep breath and opened the door to the suite. The lamps were still lit, glowing dimly, and Ruth was dressed in her robe, pacing back and forth behind on the couch.

The couch where Caledon Hockley sat with a deep scowl on his face.

Lovejoy waited in the shadows in the corner of the room.

As Rose let the door swing shut behind her and took a deep breath to gather her wits, the clock on the mantle began to gong. It was one-thirty in the morning.

"Rose!" Ruth stopped her pacing, relief flashing across her face. Rose was momentarily surprised; had her mother really been worried about her?

"Where have you been, young lady?" Ruth continued in the same breath, coming to stand directly in front of her daughter. She blinked; since she was in her stockinged feet, Rose was taller than she was, making it difficult to be the authority figure.

But she recovered quickly.

"Do you know what time it is? It is one thirty in the morning. One thirty."

"Of course I know what time it is," Rose said coolly. She lifted her chin and stared at her mother defiantly. "When I left Jack it was a quarter after."

Cal now stirred. "Ruth, why don't you let me handle -" he began in a smooth tone.

Ruth spun around, her face darkened with anger. "No, Mr. Hockley, I do not think so. Rose is my daughter and whatever needs to be said will be said by me. Now will you please excuse us?"

He looked absolutely flabbergasted. Rose wanted to laugh. Ruth's tone was dangerous and the fact that she was clearly displaying her dominance in the situation obviously did not sit well with him. Rose could have applauded, except that Ruth was still the enemy.

"Well - I -" he began meekly.

Ruth's tone left no room for argument. "Now."

He actually got up and left the room, motioning for Lovejoy to follow.

Rose was beside herself, but her exterior remained calm and cool. She was not Ruth DeWitt Bukater's daughter for nothing.

"Now," her mother said, "why don't you begin by telling me exactly where you were, and who you were with."

Ruth obviously knew who'd she'd been with, but Rose knew she was trying to intimidate her daughter by asking for explicit details. Rose knew her mother's games, and she would not let herself be conned.

"I was with Jack," she stated frankly. "And I can't pinpoint exactly where we were; we went all over the ship. You wouldn't believe how large it is, Mother. Just corridor after corridor. You really should go explore it in more detail."

Rose was enjoying herself more than she had in years. She was trying to throw her mother off track and obviously was succeeding a little, for Ruth opened and closed her mouth a few times.

Then her lips settled in a grim line. "Don't play games with me, young lady," she said harshly. "I told you you were not to see that boy again."

"I'm sorry, but that's impossible," Rose said softly, but her jaw was set and her eyes unwavering.

"And why is that?"

"I can't not see Jack. I love him. And I don't care what you do or say; I will see him again. There's nothing you can do to stop me. Don't fool yourself, Mother. I am seventeen years old; I'm not a little girl anymore. Don't think you can send me to my room or make me sit in a corner. Don't play games with me either, Mother. I will not tolerate it."

Ruth stared at her. Her mind seemed to have only caught Rose's first sentance, for she said, "That's ridiculous. You don't love him. You don't even know him. He's a tramp; for God's sake, Rose! He said it himself; he has nothing!"

"You are so superficial," Rose said, her voice rising. "All you care about is money. That's all you see as important. Well, let me tell you something. I don't give a damn that all our money is gone. Maybe you should work as a seamstress! Maybe it would teach you something about life!"

Ruth raised her hand and slapped her before she could stop herself. It didn't hurt very much, just a little sting, but both women fell silent, staring at each other.

Ruth's lips were trembling as she gazed at her daughter.

"I know plenty about life," she finally said, her voice slightly hoarse. "Plenty. And don't you ever tell me that I don't. Because I've seen things and experienced things that you can't even imagine. You think you've got it all figured out. You love this boy, do you? So what will you do? Marry him? How wonderful for you. In five years time you'll find yourself living on the streets with four children and a husband who has forgotten how beautiful you once were and no longer wants to be with you. In five years time you'll have aged twenty and gotten nowhere; is that what you want?"

Ruth's tone was so bitter that it stung Rose more than the slap across the face had. She was momentarily speechless at the depth of feeling in those words. Ruth seemed to be drawing on some past experience, but that . . . that was impossible.

Her senses flooded back to her. "No," she said. "You're wrong. Jack loves me for who I am. You paint a bitter picture, Mother, but that's not how it will turn out. Not for us."

"You're foolish," Ruth said. "Foolish and ignorant. There are no guarantees in life, Rose. None. You have yet to learn that."

Rose felt like screaming. "I've learned that, Mother. I learned that early on. When Daddy died. When I found myself engaged to Cal and suddenly the future I had hoped for was ripped apart; do you think I still believe this is a fairy tale world?"

"Yes, I do," Ruth said, her voice rising again. "Otherwise you wouldn't be so quick to throw it all away for your - " her voice became thick with sarcasm - "Prince Charming. You think you'll live a charmed life then? How exactly do you envision life with him? God knows life isn't perfect here, either, but it's not any better there, Rose! He can tell you that! You think you'll have your freedom? Perhaps, but what happens when neither of you can find work and you're penniless and begging on the streets? Or perhaps you do find work but you only have enough money to buy a small house somewhere that you don't want to be? That's where you're stuck for the rest of your life, Rose!"

"That's a chance I'm willing to take!" Rose said, the pitch of her voice matching Ruth's.

There was a sudden silence.

And then Ruth's strength suddenly seemed to give out. She sank onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. Rose remained standing, staring at her.

"God," Ruth said, and her voice was so soft that Rose had to strain to hear her. "Oh, God, Rose, I tried so hard to raise you right. I tried so hard. I made so many mistakes in the beginning but I thought I could do it. There's so much you don't know about me, Rose. You presume to know everything about me . . . words I said so long ago you now stand in front of me, seventeen years later, and throw them back in my face." She shook her head, and a bitter laugh escaped her.

Rose continued to stare at her mother. She did not understand.

Ruth moaned and leaned back against the couch. "I never meant for you to find out. Never meant for anybody to. And now here I am, telling you." She sighed. "I suppose this is a punishment for me. But you have a right to know."

"Know what?" A knot of dread was forming in Rose's stomach; what was she about to hear? And did she really want to hear it?

"When I was your age," Ruth said slowly, "maybe a little younger, I was a lot like you. I know you find that hard to believe. But I was. I was impetuous and a little daring; I expected everything would go my way. And during this time, I met a man named James. I fell in love with him. The only time in my life that I ever fell in love with anyone."

Rose was shaking her head, slowly, but her mother continued inexorably. "I couldn't believe it had happened. I tried to deny it to myself. You see . . . James was a servant. My father had hired him not long before, when I was away at school. He had nothing; he could not even give me the promise of a home. Of course, if I married him, it would have cast a shadow over my family name. So after I finally admitted to myself that I loved him, we began to talk of running away together. Eloping."

Rose could hardly believe the words coming from her mother's lips. It was like a romance novel; something right out of a book. It was absurd, crazy; that prim, proper Ruth DeWitt Bukater should have ever experienced this.

But Ruth continued, as if in a trance.

"James and I . . . we were not careful. We did not think of consequences. We were young, and we were foolish. We behaved in a way . . . that was not acceptable; not in any walk of life. For two people who weren't married. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Rose stared at her.

"I found myself pregnant at age seventeen. I did not know what to do. I was scared; there was no one I could go to. Especially not my father; God, I could never tell him! You remember what a tyrant he was! James begged me to run away with him. We'd raise the baby together, he said." Ruth shut her eyes, letting out a ragged breath. "It was around this time that I met your father. Thomas Bukater was a kind, gentle man who, for some reason, fell in love with me. He courted me; wanted to marry me. Even after I told him I was pregnant. He said he was willing to look past that. He said he'd raise the child as his own; that no scandal would touch our lives. He offered wealth, comfort, and security. The only thing he was lacking was love. My love. I couldn't love him, Rose, no matter how hard I tried. How many nights did I lie awake thinking, My God, Ruth, look what this man has given you! He loves you! Why can't you just love him back?"

Rose stood looking at her mother, frozen, and all she could think was that she'd never seen her mother cry before; not like she was crying now. Tears falling down her cheeks; tears that she didn't bother to wipe away.

"I made the decision," Ruth said simply. "I sent James away. And I never saw him or heard of him again. His heart was broken, but so was mine. But it was my choice. I've lived with that choice all this time. Do I regret it? Sometimes yes. And sometimes I know that the choice was the right one. For me." She looked up at Rose, and her next words jolted her like nothing had before. "And for my baby . . . you."

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