"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.