"Tell me what you want of me, Eliot, quick," she panted, a new, wild, haunting expression in her eyes.
"My wife," he stammered, swiftly advancing toward her. "My wife—I know that you—that you——"
Her eyes sought the pattern of the Kirzan underneath their feet.
"You know nothing," she said, her hands tightly clenched, the colour coming and receding on her face.
"I—I saw it in your eyes," he pleaded.
"You saw nothing in my eyes," she answered, speaking very determinedly.
Beekman paused. Presently he drew from his pocket a trinket and held it out.
"Leslie," he whispered, "perhaps I've been presumptuous, but you know I have always told you that I am old-fashioned. I got this for you."
"It's just like you," she said, taking the trinket for an instant. "There's not a man in all New York who would have thought of buying the ring before—perhaps I like you for it, though."