When I got out at Putney station I did not lose my way, for Jack’s directions were explicit, and my head felt wonderfully clear.
It was, however, between nine and ten o’clock at night when I arrived at the lodging-house where my brother’s poor young wife lay ill.
I knocked at the door, and the landlady, who had watery eyes and an ugly sodden sort of face, presently answered the summons.
She opened the door about six inches, and stared at me suspiciously from head to foot.
“Does Mrs Lindley live here?” I asked.
“No, there’s no one of that name in the house.” She prepared to shut the door in my face.
“Stay,” I exclaimed, pressing my hand against the panel of the door, “there is a young lady here who is very ill. I am her husband’s sister, and I have come with a message from him, and I have brought several things that she wants. I must see her at once.”
The landlady looked at the heavy basket in my hand. She glanced at my face, which I am sure was resolved in expression. She listened to my voice, which was firm.
“Oh, you mean Mrs Gray,” she exclaimed. “Yes, poor thing, she’s as bad as bad can be. I suppose you had better come up and see her, if you have any message from her husband. It’s a perfect worry to hear her calling out for him all the time, and maybe you can quiet her down a bit.”
The landlady mounted the narrow stairs slowly. They were dirty, as stairs in all such houses are; there were many gaps in the banisters, and many sad rents and signs of wear on the greasy carpets. I could have moralised, as I walked up the stairs behind the broad-backed landlady. I could have stored up materials for an excellent little essay on the shady side of lodging-house life. But my heart was too full just then to think of anything but the girl whom I was about to visit, the girl whom my brother had married without even giving her his rightful name.
Poor people are often the proudest, and we Lindleys had what is commonly called “honest pride.” That simply means that we were honest; we had no double dealings; we paid our way not only with coin of the realm, but with promises which were kept, with endeavours which terminated in results. It could not enter into our heads to cheat our brothers; we could do without luxuries, but we could not part with even a hair’s-breadth of honour.
The first scapegrace in a family like ours causes, therefore, those anguished blushes, those shrinkings of the soul which are about the worst forms of pain. I felt as if I were being roasted at a slow fire of public condemnation as I followed Mrs Ashton up-stairs. I was almost sorry at that moment that my conscience was so tender.
The landlady did not stop until she reached the attic floor; then she turned and pointed to the door of a room which was slightly open.
“Mrs Gray’s in there,” she said; “you can go in.”
She did not offer to come with me. On the contrary she turned her broad back and descended the stairs with many bumps and bangs. I walked softly into the small low attic which had been thrown open for my entrance.
My steps were light, and the room was almost entirely in shadow, for the fire had gone out, and one solitary candle was already dying in its socket.
Light as my footfall was, however, it was heard, for a high-pitched, querulous, weak voice said instantly: —
“Is that you, Jack? Is that really you at last?”
“No,” I replied to the voice, “I am not Jack, but I am the next best thing, I am Jack’s sister. I have brought you a great many messages from him. Now lie quite still, until I light a candle, and then I will tell you everything.”
The figure in the bed gave utterance to a queer kind of astonished groan, but no further sound of any kind came from the lips. I fumbled in my basket until I found the pound of candles; I lit one at the expiring embers in the socket, found two showy candlesticks on the mantelpiece, filled both, and lighted them, and then, going over to the bed, bent down to take a good look at my sister.
I saw a small dark face; two big beautiful eyes looked up at me; a weak little peevish mouth trembled; the lips were drawn down; I saw that tears, and perhaps hysterics, were close at hand. I touched the girl’s forehead with my hand, it was damp from weakness, but there was no fever.
“Before I tell you any of my story I must make you comfortable, Hetty,” I said.
“Hetty?” she whispered, in a kind of terror. “How do you know anything about me?”
“Jack has told me, of course; it’s all right, I assure you. He is prevented coming to-night, so I am going to be your nurse. Oh, yes, I will talk to you presently, but not yet, not until you have had some food, and I have made you comfortable.”
I now observed that the girl’s face was ghastly pale. Yes, the fever was gone, but she was in almost the last extremity of weakness. I rushed again to my basket, took out the tin of Brand’s jelly, opened it, and gave her a spoonful. It acted as a stimulant at once, and I felt that I might leave her while I ran down-stairs to interview the landlady.
Oh, the wonders that a purse full of money can effect! With the chink of that gold I softened Mrs Ashton’s obdurate heart. Jack’s wife became “Poor dear!” and an object of the deepest interest in her eyes. She bundled up-stairs herself, to re-light the fire in the miserable attic. She supplied me with unlimited warm water, clean towels, and clean sheets, and when I asked her if she could roast a fowl, and send it up hot in about an hour’s time, she readily promised to do what I required.
In her absence I affected wonders in the attic room. I made it cheerful with fire-light and candle-light. I opened the window and let in some purer air. Having fed my patient, I proceeded to comb out her beautiful curly dark hair. I then washed her face and hands, and made the bed over again with the clean sheets.
When the landlady brought up the fowl nicely done to a turn, we were both ready for it. The good food, the care, the cheerful light, the purer atmosphere had already done wonders for Hetty. She lost the nervous, frightened manner which at first had made it almost distressing to speak to her. Her eyes shone; the colour dawned faintly in her white cheeks, and when I fed her with tender bits of chicken, she even smiled up into my face with a world of love and gratitude in her eyes.
“You are good to me, miss,” she whispered.
“You must not call me miss, my name is Rosamund. I am your husband’s sister.”
But this allusion made her blush painfully, and she drew once more into her shell.
When Hetty and I had finished our chicken, I set what was left carefully away, and putting out one of the candles sat down by the bedside, and told my new sister that she must go to sleep.
“But you, miss? – oh! I beg your pardon,” – she stopped, confusion in her tone.
“Never mind,” I said, soothingly. I saw this was not the time to commence her education. “Go to sleep,” I said, and bending forward I touched her forehead lightly with my lips. Her eyes looked full back into mine. I had never seen such a wealth of love in any eyes. The lids fell languidly over them. She obeyed me with a happy, satisfied sigh.
Chapter Five
Lady Ursula
Hetty slept fairly well. I sat broad awake by her bedside. I was too young, too fresh, too strong to be exhausted by this evening’s excitement and hurry. I was not tired enough to drop asleep in the hard chair by my sister’s bedside. My pulses were beating high. I sat all through the long night, excited, anxious, full of a thousand forebodings and troubles. I gave my patient Brand’s jelly and grapes when she woke in the night, and early in the morning I boiled an egg, made some crisp toast, and a teapot of fragrant tea, and gave Hetty her breakfast. Afterwards I washed and dressed her; I combed out her hair, and tied it into a soft mass. I straightened the bed, and made it look as tidy as such a miserable bed could be, and then putting some grapes within reach, and the flowers on a little table, where she could look at them, I ran down-stairs to interview the landlady.
“I am glad to tell you,” I said, “that my sister seems much better this morning.”
“Oh, ay, miss, I’m sure I’m pleased to hear it.” The landlady was all beams and curtsies. “I always said, pore dear, that it was care she wanted – and all I could I give her, as Mr Gray can testify; but when a woman has got to ’arn her living ’ard, she has no power to spend much time a-cookin’, and a-cleanin’, and a-nursin’, and a-messin’. It’s always a-nursin’ and a-messin’ with the sick, and I han’t got the time, so I’m glad you has come in, miss.”
“Yes, but I must go away for some hours,” I said, “and I want my sister to be taken all possible care of in my absence. Will you do that for me, Mrs Ashton? I will come back as early in the afternoon as I can.”
“To be sure I will, my dear.”
“Here is a piece of paper on which I have written what she is to eat, and how often she is to be fed.”
“Well, dear, I’ll do my ’umble best. I’m not good at readin’ and writin’, but Mary Ann in the kitchen can spell out what you has writ down, miss, I make no doubt.”
I left the paper in Mrs Ashton’s hands, and went back again to Hetty.
“Hetty,” I said, “I must go away for a few hours. Mrs Ashton will take all possible care of you.” I stopped, distressed by the piteous, helpless expression on her face.
“Mrs Ashton doesn’t take any care of me,” said Hetty. “She leaves me all day long, and never, never comes near the room. Yesterday the fire went out, and I got so hungry, so dreadfully hungry. Then the hunger went off, and I felt only cold and very faint. I thought perhaps I was dying. Don’t leave me with Mrs Ashton, miss.”
“You must call me Rosamund, Hetty. Now listen. Don’t tremble, dear. I am obliged to leave you. I have a mother and father, and – and – brothers. Your Jack is one of my brothers. I will come back again as soon as ever I can; and when I come I shall probably bring you a message from Jack.”
“Won’t Jack come to see me himself to-day?”
“I’m afraid not. Jack does not forget you, Hetty, but the fact is, he is ill. He has a bad headache, and has to be nursed.”
“Oh,” she said gently, and without any of the alarm I had anticipated. “Sometimes his head aches fearfully, I know; I have seen it. I have sat up all night nursing his headache. Who is taking care of him now?”
“His mother and mine, the tenderest and best of human beings.”
I felt a break in my voice as I said this. I knew my mother was no longer first in Jack’s affections. I felt an unreasonable and ridiculous sense of jealousy on my mother’s account.
“Good-bye, Hetty,” I said hastily; “I will bring you news of Jack; and try and believe one thing – the Mrs Ashton of yesterday and the Mrs Ashton of to-day are two distinctly different people. You will be taken care of, my dear, and remember I expect to see you looking quite bright and well this evening.”
Then I ran down-stairs and out of the house. It was still too early to go to Madame Leroy’s, but the comfortable chink of gold in my purse enabled me to spend my time profitably. I laid in fresh provisions both for Hetty and for Jack. At twelve o’clock exactly I arrived at Madame Leroy’s. To my surprise Susan herself opened the door for me. I think she must have been waiting on the mat inside, for the moment I rang, the door was pulled open, and Susan said breathlessly:
“Oh, come in, Miss Rosamund, come up-stairs.”
“Where is my ring, Susan?” I said, resisting her impetuous push. “Give me back my ring at once and let me go. I have really a great deal to do, and have not time to wait to chat with you.”
“It isn’t me, miss, as wants to keep you, it’s Madame Leroy herself.”
“Madame Leroy? What do you mean?”
“And I haven’t got the ring, miss. When I asked Madagie for it this morning, she said, ‘When the young person calls, show her up to my private room at once.’ She said ‘young person,’ miss, meaning no offence, but the moment she claps her eyes on you she’ll know you are a lady born.”
“I don’t care what she calls me, Susan; if I must see her, I must, I suppose. Show me to her room at once.”
Susan ran on before me, past the first floor, and the second, and on to the third floor of the great house; where she paused, and knocked deliberately at a certain door which wanted paint, and was altogether very shabby.
“Come in,” said a voice, and I found myself in the presence of Madame Leroy.
I suppose this great artiste, as she would term herself, had a certain figure, manner, eye, tone which were capable of not only inspiring awe, but of tickling vanity, of whetting desire, of ministering to the weakest passions of the silliest of her sex. I may as well own at once that her arts were thrown away on me.
She was a handsome dark-eyed woman, full in figure, tall in stature, and with what would be called a commanding presence. I was only a slip of a girl, badly dressed, and with no presence whatever. Nevertheless, I could not fear the fashionable and pompous being.
“Will you kindly return me my ring, Madame Leroy?” I said brusquely.
Madame favoured me with a sweeping curtsey.
“I presume I am addressing Miss Lindley?” she said. “Pray take a seat, Miss Lindley – I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The moment she spoke I perceived that she was not French. She was an English or an Irish woman, probably the latter. Her name was doubtless an assumed one. I did not take the chair she proffered me.
“I have come for my ring,” I said, in a voice which I really managed to make very firm and business-like. “I brought it to you last night, and you very kindly paid me five pounds for the loan of it. I want it back now. Your servant said that if I called at twelve o’clock I should have the ring back.”
“I wish you would take a chair, Miss Lindley; I want particularly to speak to you about the ring. I am pleased to be able to impart to you some good news. I – ” Madame Leroy paused, and slightly smacked her lips. “I have found a purchaser for your ruby ring, Miss Lindley.”
I felt my cheeks turning very red.
“You are kind,” I replied; “I dare say you mean to be good to me when you say you have a purchaser for the ring. But I don’t want to sell it.”
“Not want to sell it!” Madame Leroy looked me all over from the crown of my hat to the tips of my shabby boots. Then putting on her pince-nez she scrutinised my face. I knew perfectly well the thoughts that were filling her mind. She was saying to herself: – “You are a poor specimen of humanity, but if I, the great artiste, had the dressing of you, I might make you at least presentable. The idea of a chit like you presuming to refuse to sell a trinket!”
“I don’t want to sell my ring,” I said. “But it is possible that I may lend it to you another evening. Even that I am not sure about. Give it back to me now, please.”
I held out my hand. Madame Leroy drew back.
“I am very sorry,” she said, reddening; “the fact is, I have not got the ring.”
“Not got my ring?”
“No. Lady Ursula Redmayne borrowed the ring last night. She sent me a messenger this morning with a letter, and no ring. Shall I read you her letter?”
“I do not care to hear it,” I said. “It is no matter to me what Lady Ursula Redmayne writes to you. I want my ring.”
“Well, miss,” – Madame Leroy’s tone was now decidedly angry, – “seeing how very anxious you were last night for the immediate loan of five pounds, you have a mighty independent way with you. Lady Ursula Redmayne, indeed! I can tell you it isn’t every one as has the privilege of getting letters from Lady Ursula.”
While Madame Leroy was speaking I had a great many flashes of thought. Her first words recalled me to myself. A girl who had come in desperation to hire out a family trinket for what she could get for it, was surely inconsistent when she disdained even the suggestion of a future patron. Lady Ursula, whoever she was, would buy the ring. Of course she must not have it, I must be a great deal harder pressed before I could consent to part with my Talisman, my “Open Sesame” into the Land of Romance. But I knew that I did want money. I wanted twenty pounds before Monday, if I would help Jack – I wanted further money if I would continue to assist his wife.
All these thoughts, as I say, flashed through me, and by the time Madame Leroy had finished speaking, I had quite altered my tone.
“I am sorry to appear rude,” I said. “I know you were very kind to help me last night. Will you please tell me what Lady Ursula says about my ring?”
“Candidly, my dear, she wants to buy it from you. Here is her letter. She says: —
”‘Dear Madame Leroy, – You must get me that lovely ruby ring at any price. I refuse to part from it. Name a price, and I will send you a cheque.’
“There’s a chance for you,” said Madame Leroy, flinging down her letter. “You can’t say I have not been a good friend to you after that letter. Name any price in reason for that old ring, and you shall have it – my commission being twenty per cent.”
“But I don’t wish to sell the ring, Madame Leroy.”
“I am sorry, Miss Lindley, I am afraid you have no help for yourself. Lady Ursula Redmayne intends to buy it.”
This was not at all the right kind of thing to say to me. I was very proud, and all my pride flashed into my face.
“You think because I am poor, and Lady Ursula is rich, that she is to have my property?” I said. “You must send a messenger for the ring at once. I will wait here until he returns.”
Poor Madame Leroy looked absolutely stupefied.
“I never met such a queer young lady,” she said. “How can I send a message of that sort? Why, it will offend my best, my very best customer. If you have no pity on yourself, Miss Lindley, you ought to have some on me.”
“What can I do for you, Madame Leroy? I cannot sell the ring.”
“Well, you might go yourself to Lady Ursula. She is eccentric. She might take a fancy to you. You might go to her, and explain your motives, which are more than I can understand. And above all things you might exonerate me; you might explain to her that I did my best to get the ring for her.”
“I could certainly do that.”
“Will you?”
“I will go to Lady Ursula, if it does not take up too much of my time.”
“She lives in Grosvenor Street, not five minutes’ drive from here. You shall go in a hansom at my expense at once.”
Chapter Six
The Aristocrat
The house in Grosvenor Street was the most splendid mansion I had ever seen. It was Cousin Geoffrey’s house over again, only there were no cobwebs, no neglect, no dirt anywhere. The household machinery was perfect, and well oiled. I suppose I ought to have felt timid when those ponderous doors were thrown open, and a powdered footman stared at me in the insolent manner which seems specially to belong to these servitors of the great. I had no feeling of abasement, however. The lady, be she young or old, who resided in this palace, wanted a boon from me; I required nothing at her hands except my own property back again.
I said to the footman:
“Is Lady Ursula Redmayne at home?”
He replied in the affirmative.
“I wish to see her,” I continued. “Will you have the goodness to let Lady Ursula know at once that I have called at the request of Madame Leroy to speak to her on the subject of a ring.”
A sudden flash of intelligence and interest swept over the man’s impassive features. Then he resumed his wooden style, and flinging the door yet wider open invited me to enter.
I was shown into a small room to the left of the great entrance hall, and had to consume my own impatience for the next ten minutes as best I might. At the end of that time the servant returned.
“Come this way, madam,” he said.
He ushered me up a flight of stairs, down another flight of stairs, along a dimly-lighted gallery hung with many Rembrandts and Gainsboroughs, and suddenly opening a door ushered me into a kind of rose-coloured bower. There was a subtle warmth and perfume about the room, and the coloured light gave me for a moment a giddy and unnerved feeling.
“Miss Lindley, your Ladyship,” announced the man. The door was softly closed, indeed it seemed to vanish into a wall of tapestry.
The rose-coloured light had for an instant confused my sight, and I did not see the girl, no older than myself, who was lying back in an easy-chair, and pulling the silken ears of a toy-terrier.
When the man left the room she sprang up, flung the dog on the ground, who gave a squeaking bark of indignation, and came to meet me as if I were a dear old friend.
“Sit down, Miss Lindley. How good of dear old Madame to send you to me! And so you are the owner of that heavenly ring?”
Lady Ursula was very pretty. Her voice was like a flute; her dress was perfection; her manner almost caressing. But even there, in that rose-coloured bower, I recognised her imperiousness, and I felt that if she were crossed her sweet tones would vanish, and I should be permitted to gaze at a new side of her character.
“You have come about the ring,” she said. “Now, what do you want for it? It is a treasure, but you won’t be too extravagant in your demands, will you?”
“I won’t be extravagant at all, Lady Ursula,” I cried. “I have no demand to make, except to ask you to let me have my property back.”
“The ring back? The ruby ring? Oh, my dear good creature you don’t understand. I wrote to Madame Leroy offering to buy it. I will give you a cheque for it, Miss Lindley – or gold, if you prefer it. You shall have a price for the ring. Your own price, if it is not beyond reason. Now do you understand?”
“I understand perfectly,” I replied – I am afraid my tone was nettled – I certainly felt very angry. “I understand,” I said. “You want me to sell the ring – I don’t intend to sell it. It was a legacy left to me by a cousin, and I – I won’t part with it.”
I said these words so decidedly that the fine young lady, who all her life had lived luxuriously, and, perhaps, now for the first time in her existence had her whim refused, stared at me in amazement. Her brows became contracted. Her pleasant, kindly, but insufferably condescending manner changed to one more natural although less amiable. Lady Ursula ceased to be the aristocrat, and became the woman.
“You won’t sell your ring?” she said. “But you did much the same last night. Last night you took money for the ring left to you by your – your cousin. I wore the ruby ring, and I paid you money for the loan.”
“I know you did,” I answered. “I wanted money last night. I was in despair for money. I heard through one of her apprentices that Madame Leroy now and then hired out jewels to some of her rich customers. You wore the ring and paid me for it. Now I want it back. I am in a hurry, so please let me have it at once.” I stood up as I spoke. Lady Ursula did not stir.
“Sit down,” she said. “No, not on that stiff little ottoman, but on the sofa, close to me. Now we can talk cosily. This seems an exciting story, Miss Lindley, and you have an exciting way of putting things. Fancy you, wanting money so badly as to have to hire out your ring. I always knew there were creatures in the world who would do anything to secure money, but I had not an idea that ladies were put to these straits.”
“You know very little indeed about the lives of some ladies,” I answered. “The need of money comes to some who are ladies, and it presses them sore.”
“It must be awfully interesting and exciting,” responded Lady Ursula.
“It is both. At the same time it is cruel; it stabs horribly.”
“Ah.”
Lady Ursula looked me all over from head to foot.
“Then you don’t want money to-day,” she said suddenly.
“Yes, I do.”
“As badly as you did last night?”
“I think so. Yes, I believe I want it quite as badly.”
“Then you will sell your ring; if the want of money stabs and is cruel, you will take what opportunity offers. For the sake of a sentiment you won’t refuse to enrich yourself, and remove the pain which you speak of as so bitter.”
“I won’t sell my ring,” I said. “I am sorry to disoblige you, Lady Ursula, but the question is not one which leaves any room for consideration. I want my ring back. Will you give it to me, please?”
I really don’t know how aristocratic girls are brought up. I suppose they have a totally different training from girls who live in cottages, and are very poor. There is compensation in all things, and no doubt if self-denial is a virtue the cottage girl has a chance of acquiring it which is denied to the maid who inhabits the palace.
If I never performed any other mission, I shall always feel that I was the first person who did for Lady Ursula Redmayne the inestimable service of saying “No” to a strong desire.
It took this beautiful young woman several moments to realise that she absolutely could not have her way; that the humble and poor cottage girl would not part with her legitimate property.
When Lady Ursula realised this, which she did after a considerable and fatiguing discussion, she sat silent for a moment or two. Then she jumped up and looked out of the window. She pulled aside the soft rose-coloured silk curtains to take this peep into the outer world. Her eager dark eyes looked down the street and up the street. For all her languor she was now fully alive and even quick in her movements. With a pettish action she let the rose curtains cover the window again, and going to the fireplace pressed the button of an electric bell.
In a moment an elderly woman dressed in black silk, with a book-muslin apron, and a white cap with long streamers of lace, appeared.
“Nurse,” said Lady Ursula, “please give orders that I am not at home to any callers this morning.”
“I will attend to the matter, my lady,” answered the nurse. “But if Captain Valentine calls?”
“I am not at home – I make no exception.”
The nurse respectfully withdrew, and the door, which opened into the tapestry, was noiselessly closed.
“Now,” said Lady Ursula, turning to me, “I am going to confide in you, Miss Lindley.”
I felt quite cross. I was dying to be home with mother and Jack, and wondering if my poor new sister Hetty was being starved by Mrs Ashton.
Lady Ursula looked at me with an expression which seemed to say —
“Now you are having an honour conferred on you.”
In reply to it, I rose to my feet, and I think some of the crossness in my heart got into my face.
“Thank you,” I said, “but I have only a moment to give you. My brother is dangerously ill at home, and I must go back as soon as possible.”
Lady Ursula slightly raised her delicate brows.
I think she scarcely heard what I said about my brother.
“Do sit down,” she said, “I won’t keep you a moment. What a queer girl you are! but very refreshing to meet. Now do sit down. You can’t go, you know, until you get your ring. Miss Lindley, I must confide my story to you. I am engaged.”
I bowed my head very slightly.
“To Captain Rupert Valentine. He is in the Guards. Would you like to see his photograph?”
I murmured something. Lady Ursula stretched out her hand to a table which stood near, took up a morocco case, which she opened, and showed me the dark, slightly supercilious face of a handsome man of about thirty.
“Don’t you admire his expression?” she said. “Isn’t it firm? Doesn’t he look like the sort of hero a girl would be proud to obey?”
“That depends on the girl,” I answered.
“Good gracious, there isn’t a girl in the kingdom who would not be proud to be engaged to Rupert Valentine.”
“I hope you will be very happy, Lady Ursula.”
“There is not the least doubt on that point. We are to be married immediately after Christmas. Now comes the real point of my confidence. Rupert gave me an engagement ring exactly like yours, so like, that only the closest observer could detect a difference. The ring belonged to his mother, and he valued it above all other earthly things.”
“Yes,” I said; I was really interested at last.
“Yesterday I lost the ring. I don’t know how. I was out driving, and I may have pulled it off with my glove when I was shopping. I went to Madame Leroy’s among other places. When I came back my ruby ring was gone. I cannot conceive how it vanished. I went very nearly mad on the spot, I really did. I dared not face Rupert, and tell him his engagement ring was lost. All search was made for its recovery, but in vain. Nurse took the carriage round, and went from shop to shop to try and get some trace of it. In the end she visited Madame Leroy. I was to meet Rupert at a friend’s house last night. While nurse was at Madame Leroy’s your ring was brought in. Imagine her astonishment and rapture! Here was a mode of deliverance for me in case my own ring was never recovered. I wore your ruby ring last night, Miss Lindley, and Captain Valentine noticed it, and said that beautiful as he had always known his mother’s rubies to be, he had never seen them flash as they did on my finger last night. How relieved I felt, and how certain that you would let me buy the ring from you. You will, now that I have confided my trouble to you, won’t you?”
“I am sorry,” I said, “but I must repeat the words I have used already so often. I cannot part with the ruby ring. It was left to me by an old cousin of mine, and when I received it I was particularly requested never to part with it. I am sorry for you, Lady Ursula, but I must ask you to give me my ring, and let me go.”
Lady Ursula put her hands behind her.
“You are a cruel, selfish girl,” she said angrily.
“No, Lady Ursula, I am not cruel. The world, which has been so gentle to you, has blown many hard rough winds on my face, but they have never made me cruel. And as to being selfish, why should I part with my one ewe-lamb?”
“Oh, dear!” said Lady Ursula.
She rose from her seat, and began to pace up and down the room. I noticed that she was a tall, largely-made girl, and could be as vigorous and energetic as any one when she chose. She clenched her dainty hands now and spoke with passion. “I repeat that you are cruel and selfish,” she said. “I know that you can plead your cause well; for I suppose you are clever, and have doubtless been educated at one of those detestable High Schools. But let me tell you that however you argue the point you are actuated by cruel motives. What can that ring matter to you? and if I don’t get it, most likely my engagement will be broken off. Thus, you see, you will have ruined my life.”