"Don’t make me angry. The comedy has been amusing. Enough. Also, don’t trouble yourself about my motives. I haven’t the slightest intention of marrying you or any one else." And she accompanied the words with a gesture so imperative that, amazed at the change, he no longer insisted. As he put out his hand, she said suddenly, as if obeying an intuition: "I will tell you what you want to know. Gunther is almost sure to come to Majendie’s aid. I know it by a woman. Take care of yourself." "And I will tell you exactly the opposite," he said, bluffing. "Gunther will not lend a cent; Majendie will go under, and I’ll pull through." "You’ll pull through even if the Atlantic Trust closes?" "Exactly." "Good-by," she said, with a shrug. "Remember what I said," he repeated, and went out. Five minutes later the bell rang, and Kiki brought her a little box and an envelope. She recognized Slade’s writing, and read: DEAR LADY, Apologies for my rudeness. If you won’t accept a gift, at least wear the ring for a week. I should like to know what effect it could have on your cold little soul. Oblige my curiosity. It’s only a little reparation for the disappointment I gave you. J.G.S. "Decidedly, he is cleverer than I thought," she said musingly. In the box was the great ruby ring. She took it up, examined it carefully, made a motion as though to replace it in the box, and then suddenly slipped it on her finger. *CHAPTER II* Mrs. Kildair knew pretty nearly every one in that indescribable society in New York which is drawn from all levels, without classification, and imposes but one condition for membership—to be amusing. Her home, in fact, supplied that need of all limited and contending superimposed sets, a central meeting-ground where one entered under the protection of a flag of truce and departed without obligation. She knew every one, and no one knew her. No one knew beyond the vaguest rumors her history or her resources. No one had ever met a Mr. Kildair. There was always about her a certain defensive reserve the moment the limit of acquaintanceship had been touched. Mrs. Enos Bloodgood, who saw her most and gave her the fullest confidence, knew no more than that she had arrived from Paris five years before, with letters of introduction from the best quarters. Her invitations were eagerly sought by leaders of fashionable society, prima donnas, artists, visiting European aristocrats, and men of the moment. Her dinners were spontaneous, and the discussions, though gay and usually daring, were invariably under the control of wit and good taste.