"Why shouldn't I tell you?" demanded the girl, breaking down suddenly.
"I do love him, and I can never see him to tell him, because I dread
John Mark."
"Rest easy," said Ronicky, "you'll see Bill, or else he'll die trying to get to you."
"If you're his friend—"
"I'd rather see him dead than living the rest of his life, plumb unhappy."
She shook her head, arguing, and so they reached the corner of Beekman Place again and turned into it and went straight toward the house opposite that of John Mark. Still the girl argued, but it was in a whisper, as if she feared that terrible John Mark might overhear.
* * * * *
In the home of John Mark, that calm leader was still with Ruth Tolliver. They had gone down to the lower floor of the house, and, at his request, she sat at the piano, while Mark sat comfortably beyond the sphere of the piano light and watched her.
"You're thinking of something else," he told her, "and playing abominably."
"I'm sorry."
"You ought to be," he said. "It's bad enough to play poorly for someone who doesn't know, but it's torture to play like that for me."