t wait here while it comes," she said. "Do you want me to go
back alone? You're not very polite to me this evening, I must say."

"What am I to do?" he said distractedly. "This ring is my engagement
ring; it's valuable. I can't go away without it!"

"The statue won't run away--you can come back again, by-and-by. You
don't expect me to spend the rest of the evening out here? I never
thought you could be rude to a lady, Mr. Tweddle."

"No more I can," he said. "Your wishes, Miss Ada, are equivocal to
commands; allow me the honour of reconducting you to the Baronial Hall."

He offered his arm in his best manner; she took it, and together they
passed out of the enclosure, leaving the statue in undisturbed
possession of the ring.

PLEASURE IN PURSUIT

II.

"And you, great sculptor, so you gave
A score of years to Art, her slave,
And that's your Venus, whence we turn
To yonder girl----"

Another waltz had just begun as they re-entered the Baronial Hall, and
Ada glanced up at her companion from her daring brown eyes. "What would
you say if I told you you might have this dance with me?" she inquired.

The hairdresser hesitated for just one moment. He had meant to leave her
there and go back for his ring; but the waltz they were playing was a
very enticing one. Ada was looking uncommonly pretty just then; he could
get the ring equally well a few minutes later.

"I should take it very kind of you," he said, gratefully, at length.

"Ask for it, then," said Ada; and he did ask for it.

He forgot Matilda and his engagement for the moment; he sacrificed all
his scruples about dancing in public; but he somehow failed to enjoy
this pleasure, illicit though it was.

For one thing, he could not long keep Matilda out of his thoughts. He
was doing nothing positively wrong; still, it was undeniable that she
would not approve of his being there at all, still less if she knew
that the gold ring given to him by his aunt for the purposes of his
betrothal had been left on the finger of a foreign statue, and exposed
to the mercy of any passer-by, while he waltzed with a bonnet-maker's
assistant.

And his conscience was awakened still further by the discovery that Ada
was a somewhat disappointing partner. "She's not so light as she used to
be," he thought, "and then she jumps. I'd forgotten she jumped."

Before the waltz was nearly over he led her back to a chair, alleging as
his excuse that he was afraid to aban