rst; he didn't mind that much, he was so sure
of his uncle's inheritance repairing his lost fortunes, but suddenly
this difficulty of identification springs up, and he is literally on the
verge of ruin."

"Won't some of you fellows who've known him all your lives do to
identify him?"

"Gracious man, we've tried, but the absurd old will expressly stipulates
that he shall be known only by a certain quaint Roman ring, and unless
he has it--no identification, no fortune. He has given the ring away and
that settles it."

"Well, you're all chumps. Why doesn't he get the ring from the owner?"

"Easily said--but--It seems that Neale had some little Creole
love-affair some years ago and gave this ring to his dusky-eyed fiancee.
But you know how Neale is with his love-affairs, went off and forgot the
girl in a month. It seems, however, she took it to heart,--so much so
until he's ashamed to try to find her or the ring."

Miss Sophie heard no more as she gazed out into the dusty grass. There
were tears in her eyes, hot blinding ones that wouldn't drop for pride,
but stayed and scalded. She knew the story with all its embellishments
of heartaches. The ring, too; she remembered the day she had kissed and
wept and fondled it, until it seemed her heart must burst under its load
of grief before she took it to the pawn broker's that another might be
eased before the end came,--that other, her father. The "little Creole
love affair" of Neale's had not always been poor and old and
jaded-looking; but reverses must come, even Neale knew that--so the ring
was at the _Mont de Piete_.

Still he must have it, it was his; it would save him from disgrace and
suffering, and from trailing the proud head of the white-gowned bride
into sorrow. He must have it,--but how?

There it was still at the pawn-broker's, no one would have such a jewel,
and the ticket was home in the bureau drawer. Well, he must have it; she
might starve in the attempt. Such a thing as going to him and telling
him that he might redeem it was an impossibility. That good,
straight-backed, stiff-necked Creole blood would have risen in all its
strength and choked her. No; as a present had the quaint Roman circlet
been placed upon her finger,--as a present should it be returned.

The bumping car rode heavily, and the hot thoughts beat heavily in her
poor little head. He must have the ring--but how--the ring--the Roman
ring--the white-robed bride starving--she was going mad-