Yeager walked from the studio to his rooming-place. Ruth Seymour met him on the porch and stopped him. It was the first time he had seen her since their return.
"Is it true—what Mr. Manderson says—that you are going back to Noche Buena?" she flung at him.
"I'm certainly getting on the society page," he laughed. "Manderson has a pretty good reputation. I shouldn't wonder if what he says is true."
The face beneath the crown of soft black hair was colorless except for the trembling lips.
"Why? Why must you go? You've just escaped from there with your life. Are you mad?"
"Look here, Miss Ruth. I've just had a roundup with Miss Ellington about this. I'm going to take a whirl at rescuing our friends. Pasquale can't put over such a raw deal without getting a run for his money from me. I'm going back there because it's up to me to go. There are some things a man can't do. He can't quit when his friends need him."
She was standing in the doorway, her head leaning against the jamb so that the fine curve of the throat line showed a beating pulse. Something in the pose of the slim, graceful figure told him of repressed emotion.
"That is absurd, Mr. Yeager. You can't do anything for them if you go."
"Everybody sizes me up for a buzzard-head," he complained whimsically.
The gravity did not lift from her young, quick eyes.