"It is very pretty," she said, "and you are very kind." Then I opened the case containing the plain ring and she found a suitable position for that also. When I showed her the eardrops she grew more interested and on trying them on declared them "perfectly sweet." "I used to have some very like them," she said, with a sigh, "but that was long ago. How very good you are. Are you not tired of the expense I cause you?" I assured her that I was not, in the least. "I do not own a piece of jewelry in the world," she added, "except a wedding ring, that belonged to my mother." "And these," I corrected her by saying. "No. These are not mine. They are merely part of the make-up for the rôle I am to play. You shall have them all back again when the curtain is rung down." She took out her purse, and drew forth the ring of which she had spoken. Placing it on her wedding finger she held it out to me. "Don't I look quite like a married woman?" she asked, smilingly. "Quite," I assented, "and a very sweet bride you make, too." "Have you the typewriting machine here?" she asked, ignoring my compliment. "I wish to see what it is like." I put the machine on a table, arranging it for her inspection. It was an original Hammond, which I prefer to the universal keyboard. She drew up a chair and listened intently while I explained its workings, showing how the capitals and figures are produced with the same set of keys as the lower case letters. I showed the working of the ribbon, the arrangement of the alarm bell and all the other points needed by one who had never operated that style. When I had finished and inserted a sheet of paper she began carefully to write a sentence, encouraged occasionally by my guidance when the unfamiliar location of the keys caused her to pause. "I shall be able to use it as rapidly as the Remington, in a week," she said, when she finished the sheet. "It is not nearly as hard as I imagined." She left the table and resumed her seat in the chair, where we fell into a conversation that lasted several hours. She counted with me the days that remained and was glad they were so few. She said she could think of nothing more that she needed before starting: yes, the jewelry was quite sufficient. She put back each piece in the case it had come in, asking me to keep them till we were ready to go. "You are sure you will not be sorry for what you are doing?" she asked, after a time. "How can I, if you enjoy the journey?" was my reply. She shrugged her shoulders prettily and said it was time to leave. She declined with many thanks an invitation to dine with me again, making a light excuse, and with a friendly grasp of the hand took her departure. It had been agreed that she would call for a short time each afternoon that remained.