“Don’t think of that for an instant.  I will gladly supply your need.  A little loan should not distress you.”

“But I do not know when I shall be able to repay it,” she faltered, “unless”—­she hastily drew off her glove and slipped a glittering ring from her finger—­“unless you will let this pay for it.  I do not like to trouble you so, but the stone is worth a good deal.”

“Indeed,” he protested, “I couldn’t think of taking your ring.  Let me do this.  It is such a small thing.  I shall never miss it.  Let it rest until you are out of your trouble, at least.”

“Please!” she insisted, holding out the ring.  “I shall get right out of this carriage unless you do.”

“But perhaps some one gave you the ring, and you are attached to it.”

“My father,” she answered briefly, “and he would want me to use it this way.”  She pressed the ring into his hand almost impatiently.

His fingers closed over the jewel impulsively.  Somehow, it thrilled him to hold the little thing, yet warm from her fingers.  He had forgotten that she was a stranger.  His mind was filled with the thought of how best to help her.

“I will keep it until you want it again,” he said kindly.

“You need not do that, for I shall not claim it,” she declared.  “You are at liberty to sell it.  I know it is worth a good deal.”

“I shall certainly keep it until I am sure you do not want it yourself,” he repeated.  “Now let us talk about this journey of yours.  We are almost at the station.  Have you any preference as to where you go?  Have you friends to whom you could go?”

She shook her head.

“There are trains to New York every hour almost.”

“Oh, no!” she gasped in a frightened tone.

“And to Washington often.”

“I should rather not go to Washington,” she breathed again.

“Pittsburg, Chicago?” he hazarded.

“Chicago will do,” she asserted with relief.  Then the carriage stopped before the great station, ablaze with light and throbbing with life.  Policemen strolled about, and trolley-cars twinkled in every direction.  The girl shrank back into the shadows of the carriage for an instant, as if she feared to come out from the sheltering darkness.  Her escort half defined her hesitation.

“Don’t feel nervous,” he said in a low tone.  “I will see that no one harms you.  Just walk into the station as if you were my friend.  You are, you know, a friend of long standing, for we have been to a dinner together.  I might be escorting you home from a concert.  No one will notice us.  Besides, that hat and coat are disguise enough.”

He hurried her through the station and up to the ladies’ waiting-room, where he found a quiet corner and a large rocking-chair, in which he placed her so that she might look out of the great window upon the panorama of the evening street, and yet be thoroughly screened from all intruding glances by the big leather and brass screen of the “ladies’ boot-black.”