They had found a secluded spot in the ship's cozy library, for neither of them wanted to leave the other unless absolute need arose. They'd been sitting there, shielded by high shelves of books, talking quietly, when suddenly Rose realized that Jack wasn't looking at her with his usual expression.

Instead, his eyes were narrowing as the seconds ticked by; he was focusing in on a part of her face just above her cheekbone...

Uh oh. Rose suddenly realized what he was looking at, and kicked herself mentally for not covering the bruise well enough with powder.

"What's that?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but there was a hint of repressed anger in his voice.

Rose decided to play dumb. "What?" she asked innocently.

"This." He touched an index finger lightly to her cheek, and she fought an impulse to wince. "This bruise. I don't remember this."

Rose thought quickly. "Umm...oh!" she said, laughing a little, as though just remembering something funny. "It's so silly, really. Serves me right for being so clumsy. Last night after Mother and I talked, I went into my room and the lamps were off. I couldn't see a thing, and I tripped. I didn't realize this morning that the bruise was so visible."

It wasn't that she wanted to lie to him. It was that she had to, because she was afraid of what would happen if he found out that Cal had struck her. It didn1t take a genius to realize that Cal and Jack already hated each other, and Rose didn't want any more trouble. She didn't want Jack taken away from her.

Jack looked duly unimpressed. Perhaps she wasn't meant to be an actress after all. Or perhaps they already knew each other so well that he could see right through her. In any case, he obviously didn1t buy into her story, for he said, "Oh..." and gave her a long look.

Rose looked away. "What is that look for?" she asked, pretending to be fascinated by the wallpaper.

Jack took a deep breath, then cupped her chin in his hand and turned her back to face him. "Rose. Look at me." She reluctantly lifted her eyes to his. "Did Cal hit you?"

Well, that was certainly blunt. Rose blinked at him for a few seconds, buying time as she tried to figure out how to answer. "Wh-what makes you ask that?" she said, pretending to be surprised.

Apparently that meant "yes, Jack, he did hit me" in Jack's vocabulary, for his expression hardened and he let go of her chin.

"Rose-" He sighed, staring hard at the floor for a second, then turned to her again. "You have to be honest with me, alright? Maybe the fact that he hit you was none of my business a few days ago, but now it is. Because I love you. And I don't want...I don't want anything to happen to you, alright?"

Her eyes softened. "I know that, Jack."

"Then he did hit you."

Rose took a deep breath, looked down at her hands, and spoke rapidly. "He was angry. He has a very bad temper, and then on top of that he'd been drinking. Heavily. He felt betrayed."

"Damnit, Rose, don1t make excuses for him." Jack jumped to his feet and unconsciously started to pace in front of the sofa. "You know he was wrong. You know it."

"I knew you1d get angry, Jack, that1s why I didn't want to tell you." She heard her own voice rising, and continued in a lower tone. "Because you1ll want to rush right over there and confront him!"

Jack calmed down somewhat. "Okay. Rose. Look, I promise I won't do anything without telling you first. Alright?"

"Alright." She felt relieved, and touched the bruise on her face. "Is it really that noticable?"

"Only if you look closely." Jack sat down beside her. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Not really. It stung a little last night but not anymore. I'm fine, Jack."

He sighed, and carressed her face gently with his hand, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek softly where the bruise was. "I don't want this to happen to you again," he said quietly, pulling away and meeting her eyes. His were serious, and worried. "Next time it could be worse."

***

Ruth nodded and smiled and pretended to be interested in what the Countess was saying. It was second nature by now. As the Countess went on and on about an upcoming gala, though, Ruth's eyes scanned the Cafe, and her thoughts were elsewhere.

Where was her daughter? Rose was far too impetuous and high-strung for her own good. She'd simply left while Ruth was dressing that morning, and left no indication to where she was going.

Oh, Ruth had a pretty good idea who she was with. The thought that Rose and that steerage boy were off carousing around the ship somewhere irked her, but there was really nothing she could do. Not without making a scene, anyhow. And if there was one thing Ruth DeWitt Bukater feared, it was a scene.

Mr. Hockley had also failed to make an appearance that morning. No doubt he was sulking somewhere on his own. Ruth was finding that she disliked him more and more as time passed on this voyage, and she found his whining unbelievably childish. Of course, he was very wealthy, which made up for it. But it appeared they weren't even going to get his money now.

She silently cursed the day Jack Dawson had come into their lives. Then she paused in mid-thought, remembering somewhat guiltily that he'd saved her daughter's life. Probably the only good thing he'd ever done, she thought with a sniff.

"Hello, girls!"

Ruth closed her eyes briefly. If there was one thing she didn't need right now, it was the vulgar Mrs. Brown. Ruth had heard that she used to be a waitress, for heavens sake. And of course, her poor husband's reputation was now ruined because of her.

"How are ya this mornin'?" Molly continued as she sat heavily in the only empty chair left at their table.

"Just fine, Molly, and you?" Mrs. Astor said warmly.

Ruth tuned them out. She studied young Mrs. Astor. She was only a few years older than Rose, and certainly wealthier. Of course, J.J. Astor was about as exciting as chopped liver, but Madeleine was set for life. She had nothing more to worry about.

Ruth suddenly had everything to worry about. The match between Rose and Mr. Hockley that she'd so carefully schemed had fallen apart. Hockley had turned into a sniveling child. Rose had fallen for a poor nobody who spit for recreation.

And they were about to lose any hope of financial security.

Ruth wondered what it was like to be poor. She knew that if she'd gone with James, very likely she would be right now.

James.

He'd been nothing like this Dawson boy. He'd been a gentleman even though he was only a servant. He'd had dreams and ambitions, and he'd fascinated her with them, even though now, looking back, she realized how impossible they were for him to reach.

Where would I be right now, she wondered, if James and I had eloped as planned? Where would my daughter be?

Rose was her pride and joy. She was beautiful and intelligent and very talented, although Ruth had never her told her those things. It would make her vain. But she was all those things, and it was no wonder, really, that that Mr. Dawson had fallen for her and Mr. Hockley was all broken up over her.

Ruth was proud of her, despite all that had happened. She'd always had such a clear head, unlike Ruth, who only pretended to. Rose always knew what she wanted and made up her mind, hardly any hesitations.

James had been that way.

Yes, she was like her father. Her spirit, her adventurous side, her desire to see the world. And her eyes. Those dark blue eyes never failed to remind Ruth of James, and she wished he might see her today. She wished that he might see their daughter, and smile at Ruth the way he used to - he was forever an eighteen-year-old in her mind - and say - what would he say? She pictured his face and heard his voice again in her mind. "Well, Ruthie, you sure did a good job raising her. "

Ruthie had been his pet name for her. He teased her with it, and she had pretended to hate it, but really she hadn't. It sounded so much more friendly and - and approachable - than Ruth.

"I'm going to see the world, Ruthie. And I want you to come with me."

Ruth stared into her tea, her mind a million miles away, and years ago. The night she had refused him. "I'm sorry, James. I can't."

She'd been so cold. So cold. God, why had she been so cold? She'd broken his heart. He'd left her standing beside the tree, their old meeting spot, and she'd never seen him again. She hadn't even seen him walk away.

"I'm going to see the world, Ruthie..." Ruth dabbed at her face with her napkin, so they couldn't see the tears in her eyes.

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