"Believe me, it is love," he whispered in return. "See how it snatched us both in the same instant."
Her fingers nestled sweetly in among his own.
"Did Kneedrock tell you more than you told me?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered frankly. "But it made no difference. I don't care what people say about you."
"But I have played with fire so often—once too often," she added with a laugh. "Fire came near ending me at last."
Abruptly his curiosity roused. "They say you were safely down stairs, and that then you turned and went back. Why did you go back?"
"I wanted something."
"What? What was worth the risk?"
For just a little she did not answer. Then, slowly, she reached out her other hand—her left hand. "For this," she said.
He looked and fancied he must be dreaming, for, lo, there on her engagement finger sparkled a ring—his ring. The ring that he believed lost; the ring that he believed no woman would ever wear again.