al--more brutal even than his words, and the girl
turned pale and her breath quickened.

"Why, Ed, what's the matter?"

"Matter is just this: you ain't got any business goin' around with that
feller with my ring on your finger, that's all." He ended with an
unmistakable threat in his voice.

"Very well," said the girl, after a pause, curiously quiet; "then I
won't; here's your ring."

The man's bluster disappeared instantly. Bert could tell by the change
in his voice, which was incredibly great, as he pleaded:

"Oh, don't do that, Maud; I didn't mean to say that; I was mad--I'm
sorry."

"I'm _glad_ you did it _now_, so I can know you. Take your ring, Ed; I
never'll wear it again."

Albert had heard all this, but he did not know how the girl looked as
she faced the man. In the silence which followed she looked him in the
face, and scornfully passed him and went out into the kitchen. He did
not return at supper.

Young people of this sort are not self-analysts, and Maud did not
examine closely into causes. She was astonished to find herself more
indignant than grieved. She broke into an angry wail as she went to her
mother's bosom:

"Mother! mother!"

"Why, what's the matter, Maudie? Tell me. There, there! don't cry, pet!
Who's been hurtin' my poor little bird?"

"Ed has; he said--he said----"

"There, there! poor child! Have you been quarreling? Never mind; it'll
come out all right."

"No, it won't--not the way you mean," the girl cried, lifting her head;
"I've given him back his ring, and I'll never wear it again."

The mother could not understand with what wounding brutality the man's
tone had fallen upon the girl's spirit, and Maud felt in some way as if
she could not explain sufficiently to justify herself. Mrs. Welsh
consoled herself with the idea that it was only a lovers' quarrel--one
of the little jars sure to come when two natures are settling
together--and that all would be mended in a day or two.

But there was a peculiar set look on the girl's face that promised
little for Brann. Albert, being no more of a self-analyst than Maud,
simply said, "Served him right," and dwelt no more upon it for the time.

At supper, however, he was extravagantly gay, and to himself
unaccountably so. He joked Troutt till Maud begged him to stop, and
after the rest had gone he remained seated at the table, enjoying the
indignant color in her face and the flash of her infrequent smile, which
it was such a plea