s of
the cleanliness of the place, of the artistic aspiration represented by
the few prints on the walls.

"I did have a turn, Miss Wycliffe," Lena stammered, "but I feel better
now. I thought, perhaps, if I went out to get the fresh air"--

"And saw the procession?" her mistress suggested, with a curious smile.

Lena nodded guiltily, and a flush quickly spread beyond the limits of
colour which art had fixed in her cheeks.

"Perhaps that would do you good," Miss Wycliffe remarked. Then, with a
penetrating regard, she added, "And I suspect you have a personal
interest in the parade, Lena."

"I want to see Mr. Emmet," the girl confessed, as if she could not
resist the inquisition of the stronger nature confronting her. But
there was pride, too, as well as implication, in the admission.

"Perhaps it was Mr. Emmet who gave you that odd ring?" Miss Wycliffe
continued relentlessly.

"Yes," in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"And you regard it as an engagement ring?"

"He did n't say so definitely, Miss Wycliffe. He told me not to wear
it yet, and I did n't until tonight. And he made me promise not to
tell--anything. You will keep my secret, Miss Wycliffe, until--until"--

"No, child, I won't tell, but I 'm sorry to say that I shall have to
deprive you of the ring, as it happens to be one of my own. I noticed
it on your hand at dinner, and while I was sorry to think of taking it
back, I could n't help feeling that a fortunate chance had restored it
to me."

Lena drooped pitifully, and her mistress deigned to explain further,
though her tone was hard and cold.

"If the ring were of no special value, I shouldn't mind, but it
belonged in the family, and I prized it highly. Undoubtedly I lost it
in the car, where it was found by Mr. Emmet. Let me see it; I 'm sure
I can't be mistaken."

She held out her hand imperiously, and resistance to her will was
impossible. At that moment the head of the procession could be seen
through the trees, and the sound of music floated up to the little
room. Lena held the ring in the palm of her hand, forgetting that she
had ever thought it less than beautiful, and her tears began to drop
slowly. Then she surrendered it with an impulsive movement, like that
of a conquered child. Her heart failed her. The necessity of giving
up the ring seemed prophetic of the future; and moreover she was now
too late to see him pass.

"Yes," Miss Wycliffe said coolly, "I was right