"What you going to do with it?" she demanded. "Give it back to Breck." She grasped my wrist. "You little fool!" she exclaimed. "But he wants me to run off with him. He wants me to elope." "He does!" she ejaculated, her eyes large. "Well?" she inquired. I stared up at Edith on the step above me in silence. "Well?" she repeated. "You don't mean----" I began. "His mother is sure to come around in time. They always do. _My_ mother eloped," she said. "Edith Campbell Vars," I exclaimed, "do you actually mean----" I stopped. Even in the dim light of the hall I saw her flush before my blank astonishment. "Do you mean----" "Well, if you don't," she interrupted in defense, "everybody will think he threw _you_ over. You'll simply become an old glove. There's not much choice." "But my pride, my own self-respect! Edith Vars, you'd sell your soul for society; and you'd sell me too! But you can't--you can't! Let go my wrist. I'm sick of the whole miserable game. I'm sick of it. Let me go." "And I'm sick of it too," flung back Edith. "But _I've_ got a daughter's future to think about, I'd have you know, as well as yours. I've worked hard to establish ourselves in this place, and I've succeeded too. And now you come along, and look at the mess we're in! Humiliated! Ignored! Insulted! It isn't my fault, is it? If I'd paddled my own canoe, I'd be all right today." "You can paddle it hereafter," I flashed out. "I shan't trouble you any more." "Yes, that's pleasant, after you've jabbed it full of holes!" "Let me go, Edith," I said and pulled away my wrist with a jerk. "Are you going to give it back to him?" "Yes, I am!" I retorted and fled down the stairs, out of the door, across the porch, and into the moonlit garden as fast as I could go. "Here, Breck--here's your ring! Take it. You're free. You don't need to hang around, as you say, any more. And I'm free, too, thank heaven! I would have borne the glory and the honor of your name with pride. Your mother's friendship would have been a happiness, but for no name, and for no woman's favor will I descend to a stolen marriage. You're mistaken in me. Everybody seems to be. I'm mistaken in myself. I don't want to marry you after all. I don't love you, and I don't want to marry you. I'm tired. Please go." He stared at me. "You little fool!" he exclaimed, just like Edith. Then he slipped the box into his pocket, shrugged his shoulders, and in truly chivalrous fashion added, "Don't imagine I'm going to commit suicide or anything tragic like that, young lady, because I'm not." "I didn't imagine it," I replied. "I'm going to marry Gale Oliphant," he informed me coolly. "I'm going to give her a ring in a little box--and she'll wear hers. You'll see." He produced a cigarette and lit it. "She's no fish," he added. "She's a pippin, she is. Good night," he finished, and turned and walked out of the garden.