“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.”

Chapter Thirteen

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.