“Not a sign of a ring!  Shame!” She turned her pretty, daring face to his, eyes sparkling with audacity: 

“Besides, I’m not going back to-night.”

He said tranquilly:  “I should think not.”

“I mean it, Kelly, I simply won’t go.  And you may ring up the police and every ambulance in town—­and the fire department—­”

“I’ve done it,” he said, “but the fire department refuses to put you out....  You don’t mean to say you’ve finished!—­after fasting all day like a little idiot,” he exclaimed as she sprang to her feet and pushed away her chair.

“I have.  I am not an anaconda!” ...  She passed swiftly into the outer room where her own toilet necessaries were always ready, and presently came back, leisurely, her hands behind her back, sauntering toward, him with a provoking smile edging her lips: 

[Illustration:  “‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it is really great.’”]

“You may retire when you like, Kelly, and tie your red cotton night-cap under your chin. I shall sit up for the sun.  It’s due in about an hour, you know.”

“Nonsense,” he said.  “We’ll both, be dead in the morning.”

“You offer me your guest-room?” she said in pretence of surprise.  “How very nice of you, Mr. Neville.  I—­ah—­will condescend to occupy it—­for this evening only—­” Her eyes brightened into laughter:  “Oh, isn’t it delicious, Louis!  Isn’t it perfectly heavenly to know that we are utterly and absolutely all right,—­and to know that the world outside would be perfectly certain that we are not?  What a darling you are!”

Still holding her hands behind her back she bent forward and touched her lips to his, daintily, fastidious in the light contact,

“Where is that picture of ’Womanhood’?” she asked.

He drew out the easel, adjusting the canvas to the light, and rolled a big chair up in front of it.

“Please sit there,” she said; and seated herself on the padded arm, still keeping her hands behind her back.

“Are you concealing anything from me?” he asked.

“Never mind.  I want to look at your picture,” she added slowly as her eyes fell upon the canvas.

Minute after minute she sat there in silence, neither stirring nor offering comment.  And after a long time he moved restlessly in the depths of the chair beside her.

Then she turned and looked down at him: 

“Yes,” she said, “it is really great....  And, somehow, I am lonely.  Take me, Louis.”

He drew her into his arms.  She lay very silent against his breast for a while, and at last raised her curiously troubled eyes.

“You are going to be a very, very great painter, aren’t you, Louis?”

He laughed and kissed her, watching her face.

“Don’t be too great—­so great that I shall feel too—­too lonely,” she whispered.

Then his eyes fell upon the ring which he had given her—­and which she had gently put aside.  She was wearing it on her betrothal finger.