Coming on such an errand, I was at a loss just how to approach
her. I noted the little lines about the corners of her eyes, the
sad droop of her pretty mouth. Plainly she was worried. As I was
removing my hat she caught sight of the ring upon my finger.
"Oh," she said; "then you come from Mr. Watson. How is Chick?"
"Mr. Watson"--I did not like lying, but I could not but feel for
her; she had already lost her father--"Mr. Watson has gone on a
trip up-country--with Jerome. He was not feeling well. He has left
this ring with me. I have come for a bit of information."
She bit her lips; her mouth quivered.
"Couldn't you get this from Mr. Watson? He knows about the stone.
Didn't he tell you? How did it come into your possession? What has
happened?"
Her voice was querulous and suspicious. I had endeavoured to
deceive her for her own sake; she had suffered enough already. I
could not but wince at the pain in her eyes. She stood up.
"Please, Mr. Wendel; don't be clumsy. Don't regard me as a mere
baby. Tell me what has happened to Chick. Please--"
She stopped in a flow of emotion. Tears came to her eyes; but she
held control. She sat down.
"Tell me all, Mr. Wendel. It is what I expected." She blinked to
hold back her tears. "It is my fault. You wouldn't have the ring
had nothing happened. Tell me. I can be brave."
And brave she was--splendid.
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