She said "Hello, dearie!" lightly enough in the abstraction of reviewing some especially pleasing purchases, closed the door, walked over to the bureau, put down her handbag and a small parcel, and removed her hat. Then the fact that Quard had not answered penetrated her reverie. Disposing of her hat, she looked half casually over her shoulder, to discover that he hadn't moved. Two surmises struck through her wonder: that he had fallen asleep waiting for her; with poignant apprehension, that he had been drinking again. But this seemed hardly likely: he had been entirely rational and unintoxicated during the matinée. She said sharply: "What's the matter?" Quard made no answer. With a troubled sigh she moved to his chair and bent over him. His eyes, wide and blazing, met hers with a look of inflexible hostility and rage; his mouth was set like a trap, his lips, like his face, were almost colourless. The air was pungent with his breath, but intuitively she divined that it was not drunkenness alone which had aroused this temper, the more dismaying since it was for the time being under control. From the look in his eyes she started back as from a blow. "Charlie! What's the matter?" Quard opened his lips, gulped spasmodically, closed them without speaking. The muscles on the left side of his face twitched nervously. Abruptly he shot up out of his chair, strode to the door, locked it and pocketed the key. His face as he turned was terrible to see. She shrank away, but his eyes held hers in the fascination of fright. "Why--Charlie!--what--" He interrupted with an imperative gesture, took a step toward her, and shook his hand in her face. Between his thumb and forefinger glittered something exquisitely coruscant in the sunlight. "What's that?" he demanded in a quivering voice. She moved her head in assumed bewilderment, staggered to recognize the symbol of her broken troth with Matthias. "I don't know. What is it? You keep moving it around so, I can't see...." "There, then!" he cried, steadying the hand under her nose. Instinctively her gaze veered to her trunk. Its lid was up. On the floor lay her work-basket in the litter of its former contents. Her indignation mounted. "What were you doing in my trunk?" she demanded hotly. Quard's eyes clouded under the impact of this counter attack. Momentarily his dazed expression made it very plain that he had taken advantage of her absence to drink heavily. And this was even more plain in the blurred accents, robbed of the sharpness rage had lent them, in which he endeavoured to justify himself. "I wanted--shew on s'pender button--wanted work-basket...." Anger returned; his voice mounted: "And I found this! What is it?" Joan snatched at the ring, but he drew back his hand too quickly for her. "It's mine. Give it to me!" "Where'd you get it? Tha'sh what I wanna know!" "None of your business. Give it--"