hetting the appetite of
anticipation to the full.... The gem justified her little play. It was
magnificent; more beautiful and more expensive than anything her father
ever bought her.

She hesitated strangely about putting it on. To Zen it seemed that the
putting on of Transley's ring would be a voluntary act symbolizing her
acceptance of him. If she had been carried off her feet--swept into the
position in which she found herself--that explanation would not apply
to the deliberate placing of his ring upon her finger. There would be
no excuse; she could never again plead that she had been the victim of
Transley's precipitateness. This would be deliberate, and she must do it
herself.

She rather blamed Transley for not having left his old business and come
to perform this rite himself, as he should have done. What was one day
of business, more or less? Yet Zen gathered no hint from that
incident that always, with Transley, business would come first. It was
symbolic--prophetic--but she did not see the sign nor understand the
prophecy.

She held the ring between her fingers; slipped it off and on her little
fingers; held it so the rays of the sun fell through the window upon it
and danced before her eyes in all their primal colors.

"I have to put this on," she said, pursing her lips firmly, "and--and
forget about Dennison Grant!"

For a long time she thought of that and all it meant. Then she raised
the jewel to her lips.

"Help me--help me--" she murmured. With a quick little impetuous motion
she drew it on to the finger where it belonged. There she gazed upon it
for a moment, as though fascinated by it. Then she fell upon her bed and
lay motionless until long after the valley was wrapped in shadow.

The events of these days had almost driven from Zen's mind the tragedy
of George Drazk. When she thought of it at all it presented such a
grotesque unreality--it was such an unreasonable thing--that it assumed
the vague qualities of a dream. It was something unreal and very much
better forgotten, and it was only by an unwilling effort at such times
that she could bring herself to know that it was not unreal. It was
a matter that concerned her tremendously. Sooner or later Drazk's
disappearance must be noted,--perhaps his body would be found--and while
she had little fear that anyone would associate her with the tragedy it
was a most unpleasant thing to think about. Sometimes she wondered if
she should not tell her f