“Yes,” she said at last, “I’ll go.  For five minutes—­only in the street—­in full view of the house.”

There was a hard, deep-throated exclamation from John Mark.  He rose and glided across the room, as if to go and vent his anger elsewhere.  But he checked and controlled himself at the door, then turned.

“You seem to have won, Doone.  I congratulate you.  When he’s talking to you, Caroline, I want you constantly to remember that—­”

“Wait!” cut in Ronicky sharply.  “She’ll do her own thinking, without your help.”

John Mark bowed with a sardonic smile, but his face was colorless.  Plainly he had been hard hit.  “Later on,” he continued, “we’ll see more of each other, I expect—­a great deal more, Doone.”

“It’s something I’ll sure wait for,” said Ronicky savagely.  “I got more than one little thing to talk over with you, Mark.  Maybe about some of them we’ll have to do more than talking.  Good-by.  Lady, I’ll be waiting for you down by the front door of the house.”

Caroline Smith nodded, flung one frightened and appealing glance to Ruth Tolliver for direction, then hurried out to her room to dress.  Ronicky Doone turned back to Ruth.

“In my part of the country,” he said simply, “they’s some gents we know sort of casual, and some gents we have for friends.  Once in a while you bump into somebody that’s so straight and square-shooting that you’d like to have him for a partner.  If you were out West, lady, and if you were a man—­well, I’d pick you for a partner, because you’ve sure played straight and square with me tonight.”

He turned, hesitated, and, facing her again, caught up her hand, touched it to his lips, then hurried past John Mark and through the doorway.  They could hear his rapid footfalls descending the stairs, and John Mark was thoughtful indeed.  He was watching Ruth Tolliver, as she stared down at her hand.  When she raised her head and met the glance of the leader she flushed slowly to the roots of her hair.

“Yes,” muttered John Mark, still thoughtfully and half to himself, “there’s really true steel in him.  He’s done more against me in one half hour than any other dozen men in ten years.”

Chapter Fourteen

Her Little Joke

A brief ten minutes of waiting beside the front door of the house, and then Ronicky Doone heard a swift pattering of feet on the stairs.  Presently the girl was moving very slowly toward him down the hall.  Plainly she was bitterly afraid when she came beside him, under the dim hall light.  She wore that same black hat, turned back from her white face, and the red flower beside it was a dull, uncertain blur.  Decidedly she was pretty enough to explain Bill Gregg’s sorrow.

Ronicky gave her no chance to think twice.  She was in the very act of murmuring something about a change of mind, when he opened the door and, stepping out into the starlight, invited her with a smile and a gesture to follow.  In a moment they were in the freshness of the night air.  He took her arm, and they passed slowly down the steps.  At the bottom she turned and looked anxiously at the house.