nger of her left hand; it was much too
large, and she removed it and balanced it for a moment doubtfully in the
palm of her right hand. She was smiling, and her face was lit with shy
and tender thoughts. She cast a quick glance to the left and right as
though fearful that people passing in the street would observe her, and
then slipped the ring over the fourth finger of her left hand. She gazed
at it with a guilty smile and then, covering it hastily with her other
hand, leaned back, clasping it closely, and sat frowning far out before
her with puzzled eyes.

To Carroll all roads led past Helen's studio, and during the summer,
while she had been absent in Scotland it was one of his sad pleasures to
make a pilgrimage to her street and to pause opposite the house and look
up at the empty windows of her rooms.

It was during this daily exercise that he learned, through the arrival
of her luggage, of her return to London, and when day followed day
without her having shown any desire to see him or to tell him of her
return he denounced himself most bitterly as a fatuous fool.

At the end of the week he sat down and considered his case quite calmly.
For three years he had loved this girl, deeply and tenderly. He had been
lover, brother, friend, and guardian. During that time, even though she
had accepted him in every capacity except as that of the prospective
husband, she had never given him any real affection, nor sympathy, nor
help; all she had done for him had been done without her knowledge or
intent. To know her, to love her, and to scheme to give her pleasure had
been its own reward, and the only one. For the last few months he had
been living like a crossing-sweeper in order to be able to stay in
London until she came back to it, and that he might still send her the
gifts he had always laid on her altar. He had not seen her in three
months. Three months that had been to him a blank, except for his
work--which like all else that he did, was inspired and carried on for
her. Now at last she had returned and had shown that, even as a friend,
he was of so little account in her thoughts, of so little consequence in
her life, that after this long absence she had no desire to learn of his
welfare or to see him--she did not even give him the chance to see her.
And so, placing these facts before him for the first time since he had
loved her, he considered what was due to himself. "Was it good enough?"
he asked. "Was it just tha