“Look here, Naomi, I know it’s hard on you, my putting it the way I have to. But conditions are conditions. We’ve both faced them too long to try and buck them. You keep away from that boy and you won’t regret it. I’ll guarantee that—any way you like. What’s it worth—?”
“Marshy—you’re not trying to buy me off!”
“Don’t put it so baldly—”
He stopped. For her head had gone back and a laugh startlingly high and sharp cut the sudden stillness.
“So you’re afraid of me, that’s it! It’s gone that far. He’s declared himself for me—and against her. It’s come to a crux, then—and McConnell’s asked you to help. Why, I didn’t dream it! I couldn’t have hoped for so much in such a short time. I wouldn’t have believed it.”
[150]
] Even with that high laugh of mockery, her shadowy eyes filled with the vision of the boy fighting—fighting them all doggedly, with hot, flaming defiance—for her—and it was sweeter than the thought of triumph.
Kent’s voice broke in, uncompromising as judgment itself.
“I know a way to stop it—without you. I hesitated to use it before. It didn’t seem cricket. But I’m going to him now with the plain, unvarnished truth—the story Broadway tells when it hears the name, Naomi Stokes,—the story I can add a few chapters to.”
“Marshy!”
“I’ll show him what a blithering fool he is. I’ll prove it the way I can. We’ll see then!”