Margaret gave a bewildered start, and then seeing what Richard had done held out her hand to him with a gracious, impetuous little gesture. "I meant to give it you this morning," he said, pressing his lip to the ring, "but the daylight did not seem fine enough for it." "I thought you had forgotten," said Margaret, slowly turning the band on her finger. "The first thing I did in New York was to go to a jeweler's for this ring, and since then I have guarded it day and night as dragonishly as if it had been the Koh-i-Noor diamond, or some inestimable gem which hundreds of envious persons were lying in wait to wrest from me. Walking the streets with this trinket in my possession, I have actually had a sense of personal insecurity. I seemed to invite general assault. That was being very sentimental, was it not?" "Yes, perhaps." "That small piece of gold meant so much to me." "And to me," said Margaret. "Have you finished your letters?" "Not yet. I shall be through in ten minutes, and then we'll have the evening to ourselves." Richard hurriedly resumed his writing and Margaret turned to her novel again; but the interest had faded out of it; the figures had grown threadbare and indistinct, like the figures in a piece of old tapestry, and after a moment or two the magazine glided with an unnoticed flutter into the girl's lap. She sat absently twirling the gold loop on her finger. Richard added the address to the final envelope, dried it with the blotter, and abruptly shut down the lid of the inkstand with an air of as great satisfaction as if he had been the fisherman in the Arabian story corking up the wicked afrite. With his finger still pressing the leaden cover, as though he were afraid the imp of toil would get out again, he was suddenly impressed by the fact that he had seen very little of Mr. Slocum that day. "I have hardly spoken to him," he reflected. "Where is your father, to-night?" "He has a headache," said Margaret. "He went to his room immediately after supper." "It is nothing serious, of course." "I fancy not; papa is easily excited, and he had had a great deal to trouble him lately,--the strike, and all that." "I wonder if Mr. Taggett has been bothering him." "I dare say Mr. Taggett has bothered him." "You knew of his being in the yard?" "Not while he was here. Papa told me yesterday. I think Mr. Taggett was scarcely the person to render much assistance." "Then he has found nothing whatever?" "Nothing important." "But anything? Trifles are of importance in a matter like this. Your father never wrote me a word about Taggett." "Mr. Taggett has made a failure of it, Richard." "If nothing new has transpired, then I do not understand the summons I received to-day." "A summons!" "I've the paper somewhere. No, it is in the pocket of my other coat. I take it there is to be a consultation of some kind at Justice Beemis's office to-morrow."