“Heaven be praised,” said John Mark, “that we all have the power of learning new things, now and again.  I congratulate you.  Am I to suppose that Caroline was your teacher?”

He turned from her and faced Caroline Smith, and, though he smiled on her, there was a quality in the smile that shriveled her very soul with fear.  No matter what he might say or do this evening to establish himself in the better graces of the girl he was losing, his malice was not dead.  That she knew.

“She was my teacher,” answered Ruth steadily, “because she showed me, John, what a marvelous thing it is to be free.  You understand that all the years I have been with you I have never been free?”

“Not free?” he asked, the first touch of emotion showing in his voice.  “Not free, my dear?  Was there ever the least wish of yours since you were a child that I did not gratify?  Not one, Ruth; not one, surely, of which I am conscious!”

“Because I had no wishes,” she answered slowly, “that were not suggested by something that you liked or disliked.  You were the starting point of all that I desired.  I was almost afraid to think until I became sure that you approved of my thinking.”

“That was long ago,” he said gravely.  “Since those old days I see you have changed greatly.”

“Because of the education you gave me,” she answered.

“Yes, yes, that was the great mistake.  I begin to see.  Heaven, one might say, gave you to me.  I felt that I must improve on the gift of Heaven before I accepted you.  There was my fault.  For that I must pay the great penalty.  Kismet!  And now, what is it you wish?”

“To leave at once.”

“A little harsh, but necessary, if you will it.  There is the door, free to you.  The change of identity of which I spoke to you is easily arranged.  I have only to take you to the bank and that is settled.  Is there anything else?”

“Only one thing—­and that is not much.”

“Very good.”

“You have given so much,” she ran on eagerly, “that you will give one thing more—­out of the goodness of that really big heart of yours, John, dear!”

He winced under that pleasantly tender word.

And she said:  “I want to take Caroline with me—­to freedom and the man she loves.  That is really all!”

The lean fingers of John Mark drummed on the back of the chair, while he smiled down on her, an inexplicable expression on his face.

“Only that?” he asked.  “My dear, how strange you women really are!  After all these years of study I should have thought that you would, at least, have partially comprehended me.  I see that is not to be.  But try to understand that I divide with a nice distinction the affairs of sentiment and the affairs of business.  There is only one element in my world of sentiment—­that is you.  Therefore, ask what you want and take it for yourself; but for Caroline, that is an entirely different matter.  No, Ruth, you may take what you will for yourself, but for her, for any other living soul, not a penny, not a cent will I give.  Can you comprehend it?  Is it clear?  As for giving her freedom, nothing under Heaven could persuade me to it!”