One evening about six, after coming in from a long walk about town, Albert entered his room without lighting his lamp, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep. He had been out late the night before with Maud at a party, and slumber came almost instantly. Maud came in shortly, hearing no response to her knock, and after hanging some towels on the rack went out without seeing the sleeper. In the sitting room she met Ed Brann. He was a stalwart young man with curling black hair, and a heavy face at its best, but set and sullen now. His first words held a menace: "Say, Maud, I want t' talk to you." "Very well; what is it, Ed?" replied the girl quietly. "I want to know how often you're going to be out till twelve o'clock with this book agent?" Perhaps it was the derisive inflection on "book agent" that woke Albert. Brann's tone was brutal--more brutal even than his words, and the girl turned pale and her breath quickened. "Why, Ed, what's the matter?" "Matter is just this: you ain't got any business goin' around with that feller with my ring on your finger, that's all." He ended with an unmistakable threat in his voice. "Very well," said the girl, after a pause, curiously quiet; "then I won't; here's your ring." The man's bluster disappeared instantly. Bert could tell by the change in his voice, which was incredibly great, as he pleaded: "Oh, don't do that, Maud; I didn't mean to say that; I was mad--I'm sorry." "I'm _glad_ you did it _now_, so I can know you. Take your ring, Ed; I never'll wear it again." Albert had heard all this, but he did not know how the girl looked as she faced the man. In the silence which followed she looked him in the face, and scornfully passed him and went out into the kitchen. He did not return at supper. Young people of this sort are not self-analysts, and Maud did not examine closely into causes. She was astonished to find herself more indignant than grieved. She broke into an angry wail as she went to her mother's bosom: "Mother! mother!" "Why, what's the matter, Maudie? Tell me. There, there! don't cry, pet! Who's been hurtin' my poor little bird?" "Ed has; he said--he said----" "There, there! poor child! Have you been quarreling? Never mind; it'll come out all right." "No, it won't--not the way you mean," the girl cried, lifting her head; "I've given him back his ring, and I'll never wear it again." The mother could not understand with what wounding brutality the man's tone had fallen upon the girl's spirit, and Maud felt in some way as if she could not explain sufficiently to justify herself. Mrs. Welsh consoled herself with the idea that it was only a lovers' quarrel--one of the little jars sure to come when two natures are settling together--and that all would be mended in a day or two. But there was a peculiar set look on the girl's face that promised little for Brann. Albert, being no more of a self-analyst than Maud, simply said, "Served him right," and dwelt no more upon it for the time.