r somewhat relieved
the tension; but it was not until they had retired to a small parlor,
and Tyrrel had smoked a cigar, that the tragedy of the evening became a
possible topic of conversation. Tyrrel opened the subject by a question
as to whether "he ought to have gone with Dora to London."
"Dora opposed the idea strongly when I named it to her," answered Ethel.
"She said it would give opportunities for Mostyn to slander both herself
and you, and I think she was correct. Every way she was best alone."
"Perhaps, but I feel as if I ought to have gone, as if I had been
something less than a gentleman; in fact, as if I had been very
un-gentle."
"There is no need," answered Ethel a little coldly.
"It is a terrible position for Mostyn."
"He deserves it."
"He is so sensitive about public opinion."
"In that case he should behave decently in private."
Then Tyrrel lit another cigar, and there was another silence, which
Ethel occupied in irritating thoughts of Dora's unfortunate fatality in
trouble-making. She sat at a little table standing between herself and
Tyrrel. It held his smoking utensils, and after awhile she pushed them
aside, and let the splendid rings which adorned her hand fall into the
cleared space. Tyrrel watched her a few moments, and then asked, "What
are you doing, Ethel, my dear?"
She looked up with a smile, and then down at the hand she had laid open
upon the table. "I am looking at the Ring of all Rings. See, Tyrrel, it
is but a little band of gold, and yet it gave me more than all the gems
of earth could buy. Rubies and opals and sapphires are only its guard.
The simple wedding ring is the ring of great price. It is the loveliest
ornament a happy woman can wear."
Tyrrel took her hand and kissed it, and kissed the golden band, and then
answered, "Truly an ornament if a happy wife wears it; but oh, Ethel,
what is it when it binds a woman to such misery as Dora has just fled
from?"
"Then it is a fetter, and a woman who has a particle of self-respect
will break it. The Ring of all Rings!" she ejaculated again, as she
lifted the rubies and opals, and slowly but smilingly encircled the
little gold band.
"Let us try now to forget that sorrowful woman," said Tyrrel. "She will
be with her mother in a few hours. Mother-love can cure all griefs. It
never fails. It never blames. It never grows weary. It is always young
and warm and true. Dora will be comforted. Let us forget; we can do no
mo
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