I suppose this great _artiste_, as she would term herself, had a certain figure, manner, eye, tone which were capable of not only inspiring awe, but of tickling vanity, of whetting desire, of ministering to the weakest passions of the silliest of her sex. I may as well own at once that her arts were thrown away on me. She was a handsome dark-eyed woman, full in figure, tall in stature, and with what would be called a commanding presence. I was only a slip of a girl, badly dressed, and with no presence whatever. Nevertheless, I could not fear the fashionable and pompous being. "Will you kindly return me my ring, Madame Leroy?" I said brusquely. Madame favoured me with a sweeping curtsey. "I presume I am addressing Miss Lindley?" she said. "Pray take a seat, Miss Lindley--I am pleased to make your acquaintance." The moment she spoke I perceived that she was not French. She was an English or an Irish woman, probably the latter. Her name was doubtless an assumed one. I did not take the chair she proffered me. "I have come for my ring," I said, in a voice which I really managed to make very firm and business-like. "I brought it to you last night, and you very kindly paid me five pounds for the loan of it. I want it back now. Your servant said that if I called at twelve o'clock I should have the ring back." "I wish you would take a chair, Miss Lindley; I want particularly to speak to you about the ring. I am pleased to be able to impart to you some good news. I--" Madame Leroy paused, and slightly smacked her lips. "I have found a purchaser for your ruby ring, Miss Lindley." I felt my cheeks turning very red. "You are kind," I replied; "I dare say you mean to be good to me when you say you have a purchaser for the ring. But I don't want to sell it." "Not want to sell it!" Madame Leroy looked me all over from the crown of my hat to the tips of my shabby boots. Then putting on her pince-nez she scrutinised my face. I knew perfectly well the thoughts that were filling her mind. She was saying to herself:--"You are a poor specimen of humanity, but if I, the great _artiste_, had the dressing of you, I might make you at least presentable. The idea of a chit like you presuming to refuse to sell a trinket!" "I don't want to sell my ring," I said. "But it is possible that I may lend it to you another evening. Even that I am not sure about. Give it back to me now, please." I held out my hand. Madame Leroy drew back. "I am very sorry," she said, reddening; "the fact is, I have not got the ring." "Not got my ring?" "No. Lady Ursula Redmayne borrowed the ring last night. She sent me a messenger this morning with a letter, and no ring. Shall I read you her letter?" "I do not care to hear it," I said. "It is no matter to me what Lady Ursula Redmayne writes to you. I want my ring."