ne, for instance, telephone to me at once. Now go
and work, as you never worked for me before."

Chapter Twenty-three

_Caroline takes Command_

Ruth left the gaming house of Frederic Fernand entirely convinced that
she must do as John Mark had told her--work for him as she had never
worked before. The determination made her go home to Beekman Place as
fast as a taxicab would whirl her along.

It was not until she had climbed to Caroline Smith's room and opened the
door that her determination faltered. For there she saw the girl lying
on her bed weeping. And it seemed to the poor, bewildered brain of Ruth
Tolliver, as if the form of Ronicky Doone, passionate and eager as
before, stood at her side and begged her again to send Caroline Smith
across the street to a lifelong happiness, and she could do it. Though
Mark had ordered the girl to be confined to her room until further
commands were given on the subject, no one in the house would think of
questioning Ruth Tolliver, if she took the girl downstairs to the street
and told her to go on her way.

She closed the door softly and, going to the bed, touched the shoulder
of Caroline. The poor girl sat up slowly and turned a stained and
swollen face to Ruth. If there was much to be pitied there was something
to be laughed at, also. Ruth could not forbear smiling. But Caroline was
clutching at her hands.

"He's changed his mind?" she asked eagerly. "He's sent you to tell me
that he's changed his mind, Ruth? Oh, you've persuaded him to it--like
an angel--I know you have!"

Ruth Tolliver freed herself from the reaching hands, moistened the end
of a towel in the bathroom and began to remove the traces of tears from
the face of Caroline Smith. That face was no longer flushed, but growing
pale with excitement and hope.

"It's true?" she kept asking. "It is true, Ruth?"

"Do you love him as much as that?"

"More than I can tell you--so much more!"

"Try to tell me then, dear."

Talking of her love affair began to brighten the other girl, and now she
managed a wan smile. "His letters were very bad. But, between the lines,
I could read so much real manhood, such simple honesty, such a heart,
such a will to trust! Ruth, are you laughing at me?"

"No, no, far from that! It's a thrilling thing to hear, my dear."

For she was remembering that in another man there might be found these
same qualities. Not so much simplicity, perhaps, but to make up for it,
a great