what had happened. The ring was
gone!

It gave her quite a shock, too, for the ring, a fine diamond, was a
present from her husband, one of the few pieces of jewelry, treasured
not only for its intrinsic value but as a remembrance of Carlton and
the supreme sacrifice he had made for her.

She had noticed nothing in the crowd, nothing more than she had noticed
scores of times before. The woman watched her puzzled look.

"I've been following you," she said. "By this time the other store
detectives must have caught the shoplifter and bag-opener who touched
you. You see, we don't make any arrests in the store if we can help it,
because we don't like to make a scene. It's bad for business. Besides,
if she had anything else, we are safer when the case comes to court, if
we have caught her actually leaving the store with it. Of course, when
we make an arrest on the sidewalk, we bring the shoplifter back, but in
a private, back elevator."

Constance was following the young woman mechanically. At least there
was a chance of recovering the ring.

"She was standing next to you at the jewelry counter," she continued,
"and if you will help identify her the store management will appreciate
it--and make it worth your while. Besides," she urged, "It's really
your duty to do it, madam."

Constance remembered now the rather simply but richly gowned young
woman who had been standing next to her at the counter, seemingly
unable to decide which of a number of beautiful rings she really
wanted. She remembered because, with her own love of beauty, she had
wanted one herself, in fact had thought at the time that she, too,
might have difficulty in choosing.

With the added feeling of curiosity, Constance followed the woman
detective up in the elevator.

In the office, apart in a little room curiously furnished with a
camera, innumerable photographs, cabinets, and filing cases, was a
young woman, perhaps twenty-six or seven. On a table before her lay a
pile of laces and small trinkets. There, too, was the beautiful diamond
ring which she had hidden in her muff. Constance fairly gasped at the
sight.

The girl was sitting limply in a chair crying bitterly. She was not a
hardened looking creature. In fact, her face bore evident traces of
refinement, and her long, slender fingers hinted at a nervous, artistic
temperament. It was rather a shock to see such a girl under such
distressing circumstances.

"We've lost so much lately," a smal