ou see, the ring is an important piece of property."

"Of course; I know," Flora murmured. A faint twitch of humor pulled her
mouth, but the passionate romantic color was dying out of her face. How
was it that one's romances could be so cruelly pulled down to earth? She
ought to have learned by this time, she thought, never to fly her little
flag of romance except to an empty horizon--never, at least, to fly it
in Clara's face. It was always as promptly surrounded by Clara's common
sense as San Francisco would be surrounded by the police. But still she
couldn't quite come down to Clara. "At least," she sighed, "he has saved
me an awful expense, whoever took it, for I should have had to have it."

Mrs. Britton surveyed this statement consideringly. "Was it the most
valuable thing in the collection?"

Flora hesitated in the face of the alert question. "I--don't know. But
it was the most remarkable. It was a Chatworth heirloom, the papers say,
and was given to Bessie at the time of her marriage." The thought of the
death that had so quickly followed that marriage gave Flora a little
shiver, but no shade of the tragedy touched Clara. There was nothing but
speculation in Clara's eyes--that, and a little disappointment. "Then
they will put off the auction--if it is really so," she mused.

"Oh, yes," Flora mourned, "they can put it off as long as they please.
The only thing I wanted is gone--and I hadn't even seen it."

"Well, I wouldn't be too sure. There may be some mistake about it. The
papers love a sensation."

"But there must be something in it, Clara. Why, they closed the doors
and searched them--_that_ crowd! It's ridiculous!"

Clara Britton glanced at the empty place. "Then that must be what has
kept him."

"Who? Oh, Harry!" It took Flora a moment to remember she had been
expecting Harry. She hoped Clara had not noticed it. Clara always had
too much the assumption that she was taking him only as the
best-looking, best-natured, safest bargain presented. "He will be
here," she reassured, "but I wish he would hurry. His dinner will be
spoiled; and, poor dear, he likes his dinner so much!"

The faint silver sound of the electric bell, a precipitate double peal,
seemed to uphold this statement. The women faced each other in a
moment's suspense, a moment of expectation, such as the advance column
may feel at sight of a scout hotfoot from the field of battle. There
were muffled movements in the hall, then light, eve