“Look here,” he said roughly; “you’ve got no right to act this way—you’re about to be married, too—it ain’t right, Myrtle. You’ve chosen—play square!”
“How do you know I’m going through with it?” she said, with a catch in her voice.
“Here, steady now—none of that!” he said, with an apprehensive glance backward.
“Lean out the window; they won’t pay no attention to us,” she said, under her breath. “King, you’ve got to listen to me! If you don’t—I’ll—I’ll throw my arms about you—I’ll do something dreadful!”
“You won’t do anything of the kind.”
“Yes, I will,” she said obstinately. She spoke under her breath, her shoulders close to his, her lips drawn, and her gaze set in sternness over the dusty roofs and sooty chimneys. Suddenly she drew off the engagement ring Mr. Pomello had given her, a magnificent solitaire.
“Pretty fine—isn’t it?—cost over a thousand, King—some diamond!”
“There’ll be more of those, too,” said O’Leary cunningly.
She held it gingerly in her fingers and extended her arm over the sheer dark descent into the thronged street.