She stooped to the dropped hand, but never touched it. The ring was large, and it was only necessary for her to place her finger and thumb on each side of it. It slipped off without pressing against the flesh, and in a moment it was in her palm. She waited to see if the movement had been felt. There was no evidence of it, and she passed rapidly out of the room. Outside the door, she again waited for a movement, but none came, and she walked leisurely, and with a certain air of weariness, to her own apartments. Once there all was safe; she dropped it into the receptacle in which she kept the key of her jewel-case, and went smiling to bed. Not ten minutes after her theft the Duke entered the room. He did not scruple to awaken his son, and to discuss with him the tactics of a warfare which was every day becoming more bitter and violent. Piers was full of interest, and eager to take his part in the fray. Suddenly he became aware of his loss. Then he forgot every other thing. He insisted, then and there, on calling his valet and searching every inch of carpet in the room. The Duke was disgusted with this radical change of interest. He went pettishly away in the middle of the search, saying,-- "The Reformers might well carry all before them, when peers who had everything to lose or gain thought more of a lost ring than a lost cause." And Piers could not answer a word. He was confounded by the circumstance. That the ring was on his hand when he entered the room was certain. He searched all his pockets with frantic fear, his purse, the couch on which he had slept. There was no part of the room not examined, no piece of furniture that was not moved; and the day began to dawn when the useless search was over. He went to his room, sleepless and troubled beyond belief. Government might be defeated, Ministers might resign, Reform might spell Revolution, the estates and titles of nobles might be in jeopardy,--but Kitty's ring was lost, and that was the first, and the last, and the only thought Piers Exham could entertain. CHAPTER EIGHTH WILL SHE CHOOSE EVIL OR GOOD? Annabel had a very good night. Her conscience was an indulgent one, and she easily satisfied its complaining. "It was after all only a joke," she said. "In the morning I can restore the ring. The Duke will have a good laugh at his son's discomfiture, and will praise my cleverness. The Duchess will either knit her brows, or else take it merrily; and Piers will owe me a forfeit, and that will be the end of the affair. What is there to make a fuss over?" Annabel's conscience thought, in such case, there was nothing to fuss about; and it let her sleep comfortably on the prevaricating promise. She considered the matter over as she was dressing. She had slept well, was refreshed and full of life, and therefore full of selfish wilfulness:-- "I will restore the ring to Piers." She said this to please one side of her nature.