the
subject of her engagement.

None the less, she went very softly down the hall, anxious lest Clara
might open her door and ask what she had brought home with her.

But even in the refuge of her own rooms the ring encircled Flora with
unease. The light of it on her finger made her restless. It wasn't that
she was apprehensive of it, but she could not forget it. She could hear
the maid Marrika moving about in the room beyond. She could hear the
rustle of clothes carried to and fro. She knew there were things to
dress for--a luncheon, and a bevy of teas--things which must be gone
through with, things which at other times she had found sufficiently
pleasurable. But now, try as she would to turn her mind to these, it
persistently wandered back to the jewel. All the fine, simple pleasure
of the morning was dazzled out by it. She slipped it off her finger on
to the dressing-table, and it lay among her laces like a purple prism,
cast by some unearthly sun in a magic glass. She had jewels, rubies
even--the most precious--but nothing that gave her this sense of
individual beauty, of beauty so keen as to be disturbing. She emptied
her jewel casket in a glittering heap around it. It shone out
unquenched. It had not been the dingy little shop, and the dingy little
street, and the odds and ends of jade and tarnished silver that had
made it of such a value. It seemed to her that any eye would fix it, any
hand pluck it out first from that shining heap before her.

Marrika was coming in, and quickly Flora swept the jewels and the
sapphire back into the casket, turned the key upon them, and thrust it
back in the far corner of the drawer. She would give every one a great
surprise when the ring was properly set. She glanced nervously over her
shoulder to see if Marrika had noticed her action. The Russian had been
moving to and fro between the wardrobe and the dressing-table with a
droning thread of song. And now she took up the combs and brushes, and
filling her mouth with pins, began on the long river of yellow-brown
hair that flowed down Flora's back. The broad, pale face reflected
beside her own in the mirror was reassuring by its serene indifference.
She had soothing hands, Marrika. It was a luxury to be dressed by her, a
mental soporific. But to-day it wrought no relaxation in Flora's
tightened nerves. All the while she was being combed and laced and
hooked her eyes were alertly on the dressing-table drawer, that remained
a lit