ude. Where is the most
solitary spot?"

"We can walk up this rise," said Annie--"here, where the path is. There
is a summer-house at the top of this hill, where we can sit. But I
cannot imagine what you have to say to me."

"It's simple enough," said Antonia; "I wish just to inform you that I
know something."

"I expect you do," said Annie, with a light laugh; "several things, most
probably."

"Something about you," pursued Antonia, in a firm, hard voice.

"Indeed? How interesting!" Annie's tone was not quite so comfortable
now.

"I'll tell you what it is," continued Antonia, standing still, facing
round and turning her melancholy gaze full on Annie: "you have not got
the ring."

"What ring? What do you mean?"

"The ring Mrs. Willis asked you to return to her. You did not return it,
because you had not got it You would have returned it if you had it--you
are not the girl to care enough about rings just to keep it for the sake
of wearing it. I know what has happened--you have sold or pawned the
ring."

"How can you know?" exclaimed Annie, in a voice almost of fear; "how is
it possible for you to tell? You don't know anything whatever about
me--how can you tell?"

"Intuition," replied Antonia, in a light voice. "I can see farther than
most people when I choose to see. Intuition and experience. Do you
imagine that I, in my chequered career, have never had to part with a
jewel. Once, when in Paris, I sold my hair. I had no money to buy canvas
and colours, so I went to a barber, and he cut it quite short and gave
me a napoleon for it. Ah! that nap, that darling nap, how I loved it!"

"You are a very queer girl," said Annie.

"That's neither here nor there," replied Antonia. "I didn't take you
away from the others to speak of myself. I have watched you since I came
here, and I can see that you are a very bright, clever girl; also, that
you are pretty, according to modern ideas. You are not true art, by any
means; but what of that? I know that you are in trouble about that ring,
so you may as well confide in me."

"But will you tell?" asked Annie.

"Tell!" said Antonia, with scorn. "I don't ask for confidences to repeat
them again--that is not Antonia Bernard Temple. Art is my mistress--art
exacts both truth and fidelity from her disciples. You need not fear
that I will tell."

"You are a queer girl," replied Annie. "I'm sure you will not tell. Yes,
I am in trouble about the ring, and I don't mind confidin