"Won't some of you fellows who've known him all your lives do to
identify him?"

"Gracious man, we've tried; but the absurd old will expressly
stipulates that he shall be known only by a certain quaint Roman
ring, and unless he has it, no identification, no fortune. He
has given the ring away, and that settles it."

"Well, you 're all chumps. Why doesn't he get the ring from the
owner?"

"Easily said; but--it seems that Neale had some little Creole
love-affair some years ago, and gave this ring to his dusky-eyed
fiancee. You know how Neale is with his love-affairs, went off
and forgot the girl in a month. It seems, however, she took it
to heart,--so much so that he's ashamed to try to find her or the
ring."

Miss Sophie heard no more as she gazed out into the dusty grass.
There were tears in her eyes, hot blinding ones that wouldn't
drop for pride, but stayed and scalded. She knew the story, with
all its embellishment of heartaches. She knew the ring, too.
She remembered the day she had kissed and wept and fondled it,
until it seemed her heart must burst under its load of grief
before she took it to the pawn-broker's that another might be
eased before the end came,--that other her father. The little
"Creole love affair" of Neale's had not always been poor and old
and jaded-looking; but reverses must come, even Neale knew that,
so the ring was at the Mont de Piete. Still he must have it, it