Clarice had spent a wretched day, stunned by the calamity which had overtaken her,—grieving for her brother’s tragic death,—wishing she had treated him better while living, and regretting the grand spectacle in which she was to have been the central figure and which must now be given up. The invitations and orders must be countermanded,—her bridal trousseau exchanged for crape, which she detested, and the wedding march turned into a funeral dirge. It was hard, and Paul tried in vain to console her, telling her there was still a bright future in store for them. Clarice would not be consoled, and with her head on Paul’s shoulder and his arm around her, sat blaming Providence for having dealt so harshly with her, when Elithe was announced. “Show her in,” she said, without removing herself from Paul’s encircling arm. She was to have been his wife the next Thursday, and was quite willing that Elithe, of whom she had been jealous, should be witness to her ownership of him. “Shall both come in?” the maid inquired. “Both? Whom do you mean?” Clarice asked, and the maid replied: “The elder Miss Hansford is here, and wishes to see you with her niece.” “Yes, let her come,” Paul said, moving a little as if he would rather Clarice should sit upright in the presence of visitors. She took the hint and sat up, but kept her place close to him, with her hand on his, and plunged at once into her motive for sending for Elithe. “You knew my brother,” she began. “I want you to tell me all about your acquaintance with him, but first about this ring. It was not on his finger when he died. It was there when they brought him home. You must have put it there. Why? Didn’t you care for my brother?” She was asking questions such as Elithe had not expected, and for a moment she shook like a leaf, and turned so white that Paul feared she was going to faint. Clarice had the ring upon her own finger, turning it round and round as she talked, and the indelicacy and bad taste of appropriating it to herself so soon struck Elithe forcibly and disarmed her of all fear of Clarice. “She’s a fool,” Miss Hansford thought, but she said to her niece: “Tell her all you know, if she wants to hear it.” “Yes, tell me,” Clarice rejoined. Thus abjured, Elithe began: “I put the ring on his finger. It was never on mine. I did not know he had given it to me until it was too late to return it. I could never wear it. I only cared for your brother as a friend,—never could have cared for him otherwise.” Clarice looked puzzled, and said: “That’s queer. Tell me how you came by it and where you first saw him. I know something from his letter to you which I found in his valise. Here it is.” She held Jack’s letter towards Elithe, who took it from her, and with a voice and manner which would not have shamed her aunt, said, slowly: “_You_ read a letter directed to _me_?” Her face flushed and her eyes blazed with indignation and surprise.