His love for Tony ran the whole gamut.  He loved her passionately, found it exquisite torture to have her in his arms when they danced and to have still to bank the fires which consumed him and of which she only dimly guessed.  He loved her humbly, worshipfully as a moth might look to a star.  He loved her tenderly, protectingly, longed to shield her by his own might from all griefs, troubles and petty annoyances, to guard her day and night, lest any rough, unlovely or unseemly thing press near her shining sphere.  He desired to wrap her about with a magic mantle of beauty and luxury and the quintessence of life, to keep her in a place apart as he kept his priceless collection of rubies and emeralds.  He loved her jealously, was sick at the thought that some other man might be near her when he might not, might dance with her, covet her, kiss her.  He hated all men because of her and particularly he hated with black hate the man whom he was wronging daily by his silence, his cousin, John Massey.

Beneath all this strange, sad welter of emotion deeper still in Alan Massey’s heart lay the tragic conviction that he would never win Tony, that his own sins would somehow rise to strike at him like a snake out of the grass.  He had lost faith in his luck, had lost it strangely enough when luck had laid at his feet that most desirable of all gifts, Jim Roberts’ timely death.

In the House on the Hill, things were very quiet, missing the gay presence of the two younger Holidays and with those at home cumbered with cares and perplexity and grief.

Things were easier for Ruth than for Larry.  It was less difficult for her to play the part of quiet friendship than for him, partly because her love was a much less tempestuous affair and partly because a woman nearly always plays a part of any kind with more facility than a man does.  And Larry Holiday was temperamentally unfit to play any part whatsoever.  He was a Yea-Yea and Nay-Nay person.

The simplicity of the girl’s role was also very largely created by her lover’s rigid self control.  She took her cue from his quietness and felt that things could not be so bad after all.  At least they were together.  Neither had driven the other away from the Hill by any unconsidered act or word.  Ruth had no idea that being with her under the tormenting circumstances was scarcely undivided happiness for poor Larry or that her peace of mind was more or less purchased at cost of his.

Larry kept the promise he had made to his uncle more literally than the latter had had any idea he would or could.  He never sought out Ruth’s society, was never alone with her if he could help it, never so much as touched her hand.  Ruth being a very human and feminine little person sometimes wished he were not quite so consistently, “Holidayish” in his conduct.  She missed the ardent gaze of those wonderful gray eyes which he now kept studiously averted from hers.  Privately she thought it would not have mattered so fearfully if just once in a while he had forgotten the ring.  Life was very, very drab when you never forgot and let yourself go the tiniest little bit.  Child like little Ruth never guessed that a man like Larry Holiday does not dare let himself go the tiniest little bit, lest he go farther, far enough to regret.