“I—I hate him!” she sobbed.
“Him?—Him?”
“Yes,—the—the ring man.”
I felt for the little hand among the folds of the inky table-cloth, and stooped and kissed her forehead. “Forgive me, dearest——”
“Go away,” she sobbed, “go away. I wish I had never seen you. It was all my fault: I left off wearing the ring on purpose, but he's coming here to-day——and—and we are so many at home—and have so little money——”
And as I went upstairs to pack I could see the little brown head bent low over the inky table-cloth.
II—A Purple Patch
By O.