rage.

"But, Mother, one reads such dreadful things in the papers now. Of course
Tryon would never _marry_ any one like that, but----"

"Cornelia!"--her mother's voice had almost reached a patrician scream--"I
forbid you to mention the subject again. I cannot think where you learned
to voice such thoughts."

"Well, my goodness, Mother, I don't mean anything, only I do wish I had
my hat. I always did like all black. I can't imagine what ails Try, if it
isn't that."

Tryon Dunham took his way to his office much perturbed in mind.
Perplexities seemed to be thickening about him. With the dawn of the
morning had come that sterner common-sense which told him he was a fool
for having taken up with a strange young woman on the street, who was so
evidently flying from justice. He had deceived not only his intimate
friends by palming her off as a fit companion for them, but his mother and
sister. He had practically stolen their garments, and had squandered more
than fifty dollars of his own money. And what had he to show for all this?
The memory of a sweet face, the lingering beauty of the name "Mary" when
she bade him good-by, and a diamond ring. The cool morning light presented
the view that the ring was probably valueless, and that he was a fool.

Ah, the ring! A sudden warm thrill shot through him, and his hand searched
his vest pocket, where he had hastily put the jewel before leaving his
room. That was something tangible. He could at least know what it was
worth, and so make sure once for all whether he had been deceived. No,
that would not be fair either, for her father might have made her think it