“We’ve shaken hands,” he admitted
slowly, as though just realizing the full extent of
the meaning of that act. “Very well, Ronicky,
I’ll send for Caroline Smith, and more power
to your tongue, but you’ll never get her away
from this house without force.”
Doone Wins
A servant answered the bell almost at once. “Tell
Miss Smith that she’s wanted in Miss Tolliver’s
room,” said Mark, and, when the servant disappeared,
he began pacing up and down the room. Now and
then he cast a sharp glance to the side and scrutinized
the face of Ronicky Doone. With Ruth’s
permission, the latter had lighted a cigarette and
was smoking it in bland enjoyment. Again the leader
paused directly before the girl, and, with his feet
spread and his head bowed in an absurd Napoleonic
posture, he considered every feature of her face.
The uncertain smile, which came trembling on her face,
elicited no response from Mark.
She dreaded him, Ronicky saw, as a slave dreads a
cruel master. Still she had a certain affection
for him, partly as the result of many benefactions,
no doubt, and partly from long acquaintance; and, above
all, she respected his powers of mind intensely.
The play of emotion in her face—fear, anger,
suspicion—as John Mark paced up and down
before her, was a study.
With a secret satisfaction Ronicky Doone saw that
her glances continually sought him, timidly, curiously.
All vanity aside, he had dropped a bomb under the
feet of John Mark, and some day the bomb might explode.
There was a tap at the door, it opened and Caroline
Smith entered in a dressing gown. She smiled
brightly at Ruth and wanly at John Mark, then started
at the sight of the stranger.
“This,” said John Mark, “is Ronicky
Doone.”
The Westerner rose and bowed.
“He has come,” said John Mark, “to
try to persuade you to go out for a stroll with him,
so that he can talk to you about that curious fellow,
Bill Gregg. He is going to try to soften your
heart, I believe, by telling you all the inconveniences
which Bill Gregg has endured to find you here.
But he will do his talking for himself. Just why
he has to take you out of the house, at night, before
he can talk to you is, I admit, a mystery to me.
But let him do the persuading.”
Ronicky Doone turned to his host, a cold gleam in
his eyes. His case had been presented in such
a way as to make his task of persuasion almost impossible.
Then he turned back and looked at the girl. Her
face was a little pale, he thought, but perfectly composed.
“I don’t know Bill Gregg,” she said
simply. “Of course, I’m glad to talk
to you, Mr. Doone, but why not here?”
John Mark covered a smile of satisfaction, and the
girl looked at him, apparently to see if she had spoken
correctly. It was obvious that the leader was
pleased, and she glanced back at Ronicky, with a flush
of pleasure.
