“You will find yourself blackballed by several of the clubs. Whatever your motive, the world sees no excuse.”
He stopped. “Will you read that over again, Miss Logan?”
So Lucy read it—still with that hot flush on her cheeks, and when she had finished Frederick said, “You can lock the ring in the safe until I give you further instructions.”
A clerk came in to say that the car was waiting, and presently Frederick Towne went away and Lucy was left alone in the great room, which was not to her a forest of adventure, as it had seemed to Jane, but a great prison where she tugged at her chains.
She thought of Delafield Simms sailing fast to southern waters. Of those purple seas—the blazing stars in the splendid nights. Delafield had told her of them. They had often talked together.
She turned the ring around on her finger, studying the carved figure. The woman with the butterfly wings was exquisite—but she did not know her name. She slipped the ring on the third finger of her left hand. Its diamonds blazed.
She locked it presently in the safe—then came back and read the letter which Towne had signed. She sealed it and stamped the envelope. Then she wrote a letter of her own. She made a little ring of her hair, and fastened it to the page. Beneath it she wrote, “Lucy to Del—forever.” She kissed the words, held the crackling sheet against her heart. Her eyes were shining. The great room was no longer a prison. She saw beyond captivity to the open sea.